


All that Glitters

by DiscordsMuse



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, F/M, Killing, Romance, Slow Burn, Stealing, and story rewrite kinda?, general pirate shit, here be porn, in a few chapters, looting, pirates prequel, they are all arguably bad people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscordsMuse/pseuds/DiscordsMuse
Summary: To sneak aboard a pirate ship disguised is one thing.To join a mutiny, and become romantically entangled with the Captain?That's something else.My tumblr is @discordsmuse(This fic is constantly edited and updated!)
Relationships: Hector Barbossa/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 86





	1. Of Men and Mutiny

**Author's Note:**

> I am a stinky pirate whore and I love stinky pirate men.

The clang of metal and crack of gunshots woke you, body jolting up frantically as you scrabbled for footing on the damp wood. A slip and a stumble later, you were re-lacing your britches and pulling the loose cotton shirt proper over your bound chest before grabbing the cutlass from beside your bed and shoving your pistol into your waistband. Weapons secure, you took the ladder out of the crew deck two rungs at a time and narrowly avoided a stray swipe of a sword as you clambered onto the deck. The many strange faces of the men who’d been recruited alongside you on Tortuga were locked in combat with the crew of the  _ Pearl _ , and already you realized what was happening.

There had been whisperings from the first mate since you’d been recruited with aspirations of becoming Captain. When you were brought aboard you’d met Captain Sparrow, the flirtatious man who seemed more interested in women and rum than real piracy. The charm of his first mate had been what brought you to this ship. Barbossa was intimidating, charming, and spoke like he owed the place. He promised riches and glory, and so you’d signed on as Michael Smyth, a false name for a false pirate. Your gaunt features and starving frame helped you pass as a man, slipping aboard  _ The Black Pearl _ unnoticed. The mutiny was no surprise. Barbossa had recruited you to be loyal to him, however morally grey it felt to you. Another man called for you to join the fight, noticing your still form in the middle of battle and suddenly you were leaping into action. Anyone who came at you met your blade, and while you weren’t the most skilled at swordplay you could still hold your own.

It felt like an age before the chaos was brought to a halt by the sound of Jack’s voice shouting above the noise. There stood the Captain and his first mate, Barbossa’s sword pressed against Jack’s throat and his gun pointed at Sparrow’s torso. He’d trapped him. Around you, the men who you assumed were on the same side as you cheered and loyalists shouted their anger. Jack called off their defense, and Barbossa was swift to order the loyalists on their knees across the deck. Cochair, the large man whose freedom the first mate had bought, marched past you and knocked your smaller frame aside. He cast black eyes back in a glare, the muscles beneath his dark skin making your shrink back into the crowd in fear. A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, before his attention was focused on the kneeling men.

Barbossa walked Jack down from the upper deck, bringing the Captain to kneel with his men. The energy in the crowd was unsettling, half eager to see him killed and the others nervous to have mutinied. Against the code. Dangerous, even for pirates. Still, as Barbossa looked over their captives proudly, he turned to face the crowd.

“Listen men! This be the day that we take back this great ship from the hands of her unfit captain. A captain who, for too long, led her and her crew astray.” This was met with a resounding  _ ‘Aye!’ _ from the gathered men and you questioned just how long they considered a few weeks to be. How would your fellow newcomers know anything about how Sparrow had been Captain? Still, you watched the speech with rapt attention as Barbossa leveled his pistol at Jack’s head. “However, we all know dead men tell no tales. Which five men be blessed enough to sail away with their lives?”

Jack looked torn, eyes scanning over the men who fought for him even as the battle became hopeless. This was the first time you’d seen him look genuinely sad in the short time you’d known him. He named off Gibbs and a few others, making it to four before announcing his own name. A number of men in the crowd snarled and shouted, decrying his cowardly move of saving himself. Before Jack had time to reconsider, Barbossa nodded to Cochair who swiftly ran each of the unlucky men through until the only the five remained. With each death the men around you cheered louder, until it was nearly a roar in your ears.

“Now what shall we do with dear Jackie here?”

“Captain,” muttered the man bitterly.

“Not anymore,” Hector replied, kicking Jack in the side with his boot and grinning like a shark at the sound of pain it elicited.

Each potential fate shouted by your fellow pirates grew more vicious until finally you raised your voice above the ruckus to exclaim “Maroon him!” Others grasped onto the idea until it seemed to be the agreement of the masses. You couldn’t just let them kill him, at least this gave the captain— or  _ ex _ -captain— a chance to escape. Barbossa seemed satisfied with this conclusion and ordered the men to carry Jack and the others down to the brig until they reached an island on which he could be stranded. The people around you began to disperse, spreading out and heading back to their tasks. Some had hauled up a keg, beginning to celebrate their victory as your new captain disappeared into his cabin. 

Wanting to clear your head, you made your way past the others and stood at the bow of the ship and climbed over the rail to sit. The rushing sound of water soothed you, the familiar sea that you’d grown up with was always there to calm you. When you licked your lips, you tasted salt and the familiar warm sea spray after a hot day had you nearly falling asleep at the front of the ship. Ever since the days of your youth spent on a merchant ship, then as a dockworker on Tortuga, now a pirate; the ocean was always your first love. For all her fierceness and treachery, she was your eternal heart. While in the moment, you didn’t hear slow steps on wood, eyes shot wide and jumped when the man behind you spoke.

“You fought for the mutiny, aye Smyth?” Turning to face the voice, you met eyes with a man you’d heard called Bill, Bill Turner. A man with hair longer than your cropped style, and pale eyes that looked deeper than the surface. He was one of the quiet ones, and you knew better than to trust those who had little to say.

“Aye.” Hopefully your single word response would drive him off. You had no desire to relish in a victory that made you feel so uneasy. Mutiny was a dangerous thing.

“I’ve never been fond of the idea, myself. Against the code.” You glanced toward Turner, brows drawing together. Curious it was, a man who was on the winning side lamenting the fact. 

“Why—”

“Why did I join then?” He cut you off, ocean blue eyes flicking your direction. “I have a family, Smyth. Even an old pirate can see when to join the winning side.” He returned to silence then and you lifted your hand to bite at your finger, mulling over his comment. He had a point, and anyway, hadn’t you agreed to be a part of Barbossa’s crew? Not Sparrow’s. 

“Will the Captain hold up the agreement?”

“Oh, Barbossa will hold up that part of the code if not for nothin’ but appearance. The men will be dropped off at port, Jack however, will be marooned.” At least that much was true, you knew little of the Captain and you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t concerned. “As for the rest of us, we’ll be off for Cortez’ treasure if Jack’ll give up where it's hidden.”

Clearly Barbossa’s plan had been hidden from many of the crew, and you felt a little flutter of excitement that you were in on the secret. The night before, when the first mate came to the lot of you and explained he’d discovered their heading you’d known the mutiny would be any day. Tonight just happened to be right for it, sooner the better. It made sense, when you thought about it. Climbing back, you stood on the deck once more and gave a nod to Turner.

“Be seeing you, Turner.”

“And you, Smyth.”

Leaving him at the bow, you made your way back across the spanse of the  _ Pearl _ and were nearly back at the hatch that led below deck when you caught eyes with the man at the wheel. The wide brimmed hat left his face in shadow, but you were certain it was him. Barbossa stood above, steering the ship as though it had always truly belonged to him. His head tilted in a greeting, and swiftly you nodded back before hefting the wooden hatch and vanishing from his heavy gaze.

-

The next morning was a rough, the rest of your night having been spent twisting and turning in your hammock. The haunting feeling of Barbossa’s eyes on you as well as the fear of repercussion from the mutiny made you restless. Your morals battled with the eagerness to get your hands on the fabled gold treasure Barbossa spoke so highly of. When you returned to the deck, half awake and stumbling through the motions, Cochair’s shouts woke you better than any tea. As the newly appointed bosun, he seemed to relish in the power. Woe to the deckhands who met the brunt of his howling, and lucky for yourself as you scuttled away and up the rigging. Your position as a rigger allowed for you to spend most the day away from the others. Running along masts and swinging from ropes wasn’t the safest, no, but allowed for much of the freedom you desired. That was, if Scratch managed to do his job without falling again.

Much of the morning was spent managing the sails, tightening the mainsail and repairing one of the larger holes a cannonball had torn through in their last fight. The sun shone warm on your back, and the loose cotton shirt you wore was sticking to your back with the sweat. Below you, men had begun to eat their lunch, and your shift was through. Climbing back down to the deck was a reprieve from the sun; to find a spot of shade you took your ration to the shadow of the mainsail and began to eat. At the helm, a man you’d never seen was sailing the ship and the Captain was nowhere to be seen. You were thankful for it, his eyes made you want to hide; the type of gaze that made you want to hide.

However, the peaceful silence was broken by a victorious shout of  _ ‘Land ho!’ _ , and the pounding of boots on wood as the men rushed to spot it. You launched yourself up as well, and soon the rather pitiful stretch of land was in view of the lot of you. A small island of sand and trees without much else to speak of. No doubt this was where the Captain planned to maroon Jack, a place that would be impossible to survive. Glancing back, the man himself stood proudly on the top deck, likely formulating the plan himself. Catching his eyes, you turned back to the island before a shiver could work its way down your spine.

Barbossa let everyone watch for a moment before yelling for Cochair to fetch Jack and anchor their ship far enough from the island to avoid being beached. You perched atop a barrel, watching as a pistol was readied. Only a single shot remaining in the pretty thing, it was handed off to the Captain. Sparrow himself was brought before them, stripped of weapons and valuables and having lost the tricorn hat he’d worn. He looked pitiful, like a dog left out in the rain but with a hatred burning in his eyes.

“I’m going to get off whatever miserable island you leave me on, and I’m going to kill you,” Jack promised, just loud enough for the others to hear. This seemed to only make Barbossa more smug, the Captain handing Jack his pistol and nothing else before leaning in to whisper something to the dark haired man and stepping back. Jack had to be restrained, lunging to make a grab at his betrayer before Cochair tugged him back and forced him out onto the wooden plank before them. Turning back, he locked eyes again with Hector and gave a bow and a bitter smirk. “Until we meet again, mate.” 

Allowing himself to fall backward into the water, he swam away faster than you’d expected him to. Still, Barbossa didn’t even give a second look before shouting for the ship to be turned. They had treasure to find. You were up again, bolting to the rope ladder before he could even demand the rest of you to move. This next shift was a short one and with luck there would be a celebration tonight. All the pirate crews you’d heard of celebrated a victory with a party, alcohol and singing to go along with it. The alcohol would certainly help clear your head of the anxiety plaguing you. Though, given Barbossa’s demeanor you wouldn’t be surprised if the crew went without.

“Oy! Smyth!” Snapped another rigger from above you, “Git yer head in it!” Snapping back to work you apologized profusely, finishing the knot you’d been tying and climbing higher into the rigging to tighten some of the smaller topsails before your daydreams led to your death. The muscle memory of tying knots and loosening them returned and the work allowed for your brain to flush concerns of men and mutiny from your mind. The gold and money this stint on the ship would be worth a little moral dilemma. You were certain of it. It would have to be.

Perhaps you’d misread the new Captain, because after the sun went down and the night pilot took over he’d ordered the young cabin boy to begin rolling a few barrels of rum up to the deck with the promise that the celebration would go until it had run out. Everyone cheered then, energy and morale restored as they went about finishing their daily tasks and went to wash up as best as possible before returning to the deck. You returned after the music had already begun, men who picked up drums or pipes, some with flutes creating a jaunty tune for the lot of them to drink and dance to. Some sang the sea shanties you’d grown up with, and more often than not you joined when the words came to you. The only one who seemed out of place was Turner, leaning against the wall of the Captain’s cabin with a frown. Giving him little but a passing glance, you grabbed another mug of rum and joined in an irish dance another dockworker taught you in Tortuga.

A few times, a wayward glance caught the Captain tapping his boot to the music with a grin on his face. Even he seemed to really enjoy himself, relishing in the victory brought about by the crew. Finally, a lull in the music and some alcoholic courage had you hopping atop a barrel and calling for a familiar  [ tune ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwXzdIeI7v8) . Never in your life had you ever been so ready to sing, but perhaps you wanted to prove your place here. With the beat you began:

_ “I put my hand upon her toe _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ I put my hand upon her toe _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ I put my hand upon her toe _

_ She said _

_ "Hey Pirate, you're way too low" _

_ Get in, get out, quit fuckin’' about _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ I put my hand upon her knee _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho _

Men joined in, singing the chorus along with you and earning cackles from the older men while younger boys started wide-eyed. Even the captain sang along, eyes playful as he stood to properly stomp a beat on the wooden planks.

_ I put my hand upon her knee _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ I put my hand upon her knee _

_ She said _

_ "Hey Pirate, you're kiddin' me" _

_ Get in, get out, quit fuckin’' about! _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho Yo Ho _

You weren’t so much singing as shouting to the words, carrying your voice above the mens. Surely the volume of the thing would be loud enough to carry to any passing ships as well; and let it! Let the world know of the  _ Pearl _ !

_ I put my hand upon her twat _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ I put my hand upon her twat _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ I put my hand upon her twat _

_ She said _

_ "Hey Pirate, you're hittin' the spot" _

_ Get in, get out, quit fuckin’' about _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ She put my cock! right in her mouth _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ She put my cock! right in her mouth _

_ Yo Ho Yo Ho _

_ She put my cock! right in her mouth _

_ She said _

_ "Hey Pirate..." mmmphphgh _

_ Yo ho yo ho yo ho!” _

The song ended with the men howling and cawing with laughter as you hopped off the barrel and gave an overly dramatic bow before grabbing an offered mug. It was a moment before you realized the man offering the mug was Barbossa himself. Your eyes went wide, adrenaline from singing making your hands clammy.

“Captain I—”

“I have half a mind to promote ye, Smyth. The  _ Pearl’s _ been in need of an entertainer for some time now.” He clinked his cup to yours, though his appeared to be more of a chalice than a mug. You sputtered over an attempted response, managing to explain you enjoyed your position as a rigger and wouldn’t want to be limited to the deck. This earned a raised brow from the Captain. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be takin’ ye from somethin’ ye love. We be needin’ good riggers aboard the ship as well.”

“Thank you, Captain. I don’t mean to be ungrateful.” He laughed at this, the type of cackle you’d expect from a pirate. His arm slid around to clap you on the back.

“We’re pirates, laddie. We live to be free.” Barbossa shouted out the last part and earned a cheer before the music started back again. “But I ask ye to consider it. Men listen best when their morale be high.” You nodded, meeting cornflower blue eyes by the light of the lanterns and giving a sheepish smile. He returned his own sideways grin, and allowed you to run off into the crowd as he took his place back at the head of the festivities. Well, you’d wanted to make a good impression hadn’t you? Being a musician wasn’t really the plan, and while you could be an entertainer alright, you liked the climbing and danger that came with swinging along the riggings; not to mention losing the few hours you’d have without eyes on you wasn’t something you were quick to give up.

The conversation had no reason to fluster you, yet here you were. Cheeks burned and you still felt intimidated moments after 

Still, on the ship for a week at best and already earning compliments? Perhaps you’d truly be able to make your way here. Spotting Bill again, you made your way to his side and offered him your mug. Perhaps it was the conversation, however brief, but you felt like you’d had enough alcohol for the evening. Taking it from your hand, he sipped the drink and made a face as he swallowed.

“Quick to gain the crew’s trust.”

“It’s the alcohol. Makes loose my morals.”

“And sense. Bawdy tune you chose.”

You grinned, nodded in admission. “Favorite of mine. Learned it on a merchant ship, change out the word sailor for pirate and yer golden.” He chuckled then, taking a full swig of the drink before setting the mug on the side of the ship. 

“Well Smyth, be careful. Sometimes what's best is to keep less eyes on ya.” The look he gave you was measured, and there was a weight behind his words far from the playful tone from moments ago. You looked back at him with a furrowed brow, but he provided no further comment and instead only walked through the others and disappeared below deck without his drink. For a while you watched the spot he’d disappeared below, picking at the dirt beneath your fingernails while lost in thought. What had he meant? What did he know?

-

The next morning you came to realize what he meant when suddenly the entire crew seemed to know your name. Some became more friendly, while others seemed to resent the ground you walked upon. It was an odd sensation, suddenly being known when but the night before you’d been a nobody among nobodies. By midafternoon they dropped off the crew Jack had chosen to be spared in Barbados and again left to the sea. Whatever awaited them on the Isla de Muerta would meet them soon. Barbossa seemed to know exactly where this hidden island was, despite the uncertainty of the crew.

The sun beat its familiar warmth onto your back and for the time being at least, you had peace. The creaks of wood and rushing sea was home to you now, and even with the shouting from your crewmates and the occasional slam of something dropped on deck, all was well. Your anxieties had quelled, and it was easy to slip into the routine of the riggings.

A chittering squawk startled you nearly enough to send you tumbling off the rigging, and you sent an accusatory glare at the Captain’s new pet. It was a monstrous little thing, a monkey that seemed to take pleasure in scaring the piss out of the crew and stealing rations no matter how much Barbossa fed the thing. It seemed to laugh, climbing up your arm and over your shoulder before taking down the rigging. Scowling, you felt a hand to your ear and found your earring missing.

“Little rat!” You shouted, spinning round and sliding down the ropes, quick as a bullet. It was already halfway across the deck and you went sprinting after it. That earring was one of the only things you had left from life aboard the merchant ship with your parents— the only thing you had left from your mother. Damn it to hell for being sentimental. “Give it back or I’ll fly your skin from the mast you little—” Hands had nearly closed around the monkey when it went running off into the Captain’s cabin. For a moment you stood at the open doorway, contemplating just how much the earring was worth, before stepping inside and approaching the large desk. Barbossa had been on the deck, and you were hopeful that he hadn’t seen your mad dash inside. Frantically you began to look for it, moving pillows and tables when a chitter from behind had you turning again to face the Captain himself.

He was even more intimidating now, standing tall as any captain. Light eyes were stormy, even in the shadows. You became acutely aware of the pair of guns and the sword he had at his waist, and wondered just how quickly he’d run you through.

“Dammit to hell, Captain! I swear I’m no thief!” He raised an eyebrow, hand stroking the monkey’s head from where it now sat on his arm. The captain looked cross, likely thinking you’d come to root through his belongings. You knew the punishment for thieves aboard pirate ships, and desperately didn’t want to lose a hand- or your life. “The monkey he just, it—”

“Little Jack have somethin’ of yours, laddie?”

“I...Yes. He took my earring. Gift from me mum sir.” 

“Now Jack,” Barbossa said, lifting his arm and looking at the monkey. “What have I said about takin’ from the crew?” It chittered back, dropping the earring into an awaiting open palm. He lifted the gemstone earring up, looking it over with an inquisitive eye. “Rather feminine earring, ay boy?”

“Me mums, gift when she died. I wear ‘em for her.” The Captain gave a curious look, as if analyzing you. You couldn’t help but feel like you were under scrutiny. His gaze swept from your feet back to your face and he held out the earring to you with a self-satisfied look. Muttering a quick thanks, you tried to snatch it back and make a swift exit but he caught your arm.

“Be careful  _ Mister _ Smyth. Yer a pirate now. Some of us be kinder than others, and we don’t take well to lies.” Releasing your wrist, he finally allowed you to flee out the way you’d come. Back in the sunlight you didn’t stop, not glancing back until you were safely up in the rigging once more.


	2. Pagan Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treasure!
> 
> Now don't go spending it all in one place.

Days had passed since your strange interaction with the Captain and even with your earring returned, you were avoiding him. Subconsciously, your fingers ran over the gold as your eyes trailed down to the deck. This was technically your break, and so you sat directly below the crow’s nest on the top of the largest of the main sails. From here you had a clear view of the deck and surrounding sea, second only to the young man above you in the nest. You could see Ragetti shriveling beneath the shouts of the bosun, Pintel waiting just a few feet away while he tried to look busy. Jack, the monkey, was harassing the deckhands, running about with something glittering in his hand. Likely he’d taken someone’s money again, bastard rat.

As a contrast, a few of the men on break were singing along to someone as they played the fiddle. You smiled, watching a few dance as the Captain looked down on them from the top deck. They were having fun, calling for Barbossa to join them and laughing when he shook his head. Many seemed to be in high spirits, all except Bill, whom you hadn’t seen since the night of the celebration. You hoped he was doing alright, as you grabbed a rope to slide back down to the deck. The thump of boots hitting planks made you smile, satisfied by the noise as you made your way to the hatch. You’d spent enough of your break watching the crew, and it was about time you grabbed something to eat.

In the galley you gave a cheery smile to the cook. He was a burly man, bright green eyes and vibrant red hair that made him look like some kind of Leprechaun. He had a beard red as his hair, and seemed to always be grinning. He greeted you, sending a bowl of...something(?) your way. It looked like a stew of sorts, accompanied by an orange. You never much cared for overripe oranges but the ones on the ship served their purpose, so far none of the crew seemed to have scurvy. 

“Aye Smyth, heard you were singin’ again?”

“You heard wrong, Henry, I ain’t singin’ against lest the Captain himself demand it.”

“Not fond of the attention?” Grabbing the bowl, you shook your head and tucked the orange into your pocket.

“Nothin’ of the sort. I don’t want the expectations.” He cuffed you over the ear, and shooed you out with a reassurance that the women in Tortuga would love it and a laugh. Henry was a good man, if not a little too nosy. The inner walkways of the ship were slowly becoming familiar, soft golden light and tiny doorways more of a home than Tortuga had been. You could hear the music above you, as well as soft voices from the halls and creaking of the ship below. A ship was different than being on land, the soft rocking and sounds more relaxing than any lullaby.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you stopped walking to take in the ambiance of your current living space. How anyone could spend their lives on land, you didn’t know. However you were soon snapped back with a shout. Across the sleeping quarters stood Bill, motioning for you to hurry.

“Breaks almost over, Smyth. Finish the food and get a move on.” You gave a furious nod, shoveling in a few bites and tailing after him like a puppy as you returned to the top deck.

“Good to see you again, Bill.”

“And you. Heard that blasted monkey got an earring of yours?”

“Yeah, got it back though. If he takes it again we might find out if he can swim.” That earned you a chuckle and Bill smiled as you parted ways, catching yourself waving just a bit before scarfing down the rest of the meal and leaving the wooden bowl by the pile of others. Then back up the ropes you went, earning new calluses and rope burns as you go.

-

It was evening when the shouting started. Like most of your crewmates, you all but ran across the deck to see what the commotion was, spotting a heavy mist before the bow of the ship.

“I cannae see a thing!” The young man from the crow’s nest proclaimed, frantically looking this way and that to try and find shapes in the fog. Barbossa stood at the wheel, and a glance back told you he found this situation good.

“Aye men, have no fear. We’re nearin’ her.”

“Her?” You asked before you realized.

“Aye, Mister Smyth. Isla De Muerta.” He turned the wheel, avoiding a rotting mast that rose above the water and skimming around another sunken ship. Deeper within the mist, it only seemed to grow more haunting. The sun was nearly gone, leaving the  _ Pearl _ in an unsettling kind of twilight. This was a graveyard, and you could do nothing but hope you did not join the many ships resting at the bottom of the sea. Many of the men seemed to feel the same, nervous energy bouncing between the crew as they whispered and prayed to the Gods they barely believed in. The only person who really seemed calm was the captain, steering the ship into a cove as the island encircled them. 

Shovels and buckets were loaded into the rowboats as men lowered them to the water and filed in. You were seated beside Cochair, the bosun giving you a sneer as the Captain took a seat at the front. Scratch and Twigg each grabbed oars and your boat began its trip toward the island. Obviously the plan was to dig up this supposed treasure, the gold of Cortez. Aztec gold, specifically. There’d been whisperings of a curse by the crew, but Barbossa assured everyone that it was a lie; a tall tale meant to scare away cowardly thieves and lesser pirates alike. But with how everything was looking so far you were skeptical.

Beneath the darkened waters, you swore something was moving. Looking toward your Captain his gaze raised from the water to meet yours, and the look was knowing. Barbossa was eager to discover what was beyond the fog, stepping off the rowboat to the shore the moment the water was shallow enough. Everyone followed behind, some with weapons at the ready while others carried the digging equipment. You yourself had three shovels tucked under your arm and a bucket grasped in the opposite hand. The island was eerily silent, no wildlife shuffling through the brush nor birds chittering and singing in the trees. It made the footsteps of the crew only seem louder, echoing over cliffs and trees.

“Where are we headed?” Mallot asked, looking ahead at the stark cliff face rising before them.

“There be a path, I know what I’m lookin’ fer.” Barbossa replied, holding out a hand to stop the group from marching forward. He felt a palm over the stone, sliding it along until it slipped into a slot in the cliff and a great rumbling noise echoed from the rocks. A heavy stone slid away and revealed a dark entrance into the abyss. Barbossa lit a torch, taking it from the bosun’s hand and leading the way into the walkway. Fretting by the entrance, you bit your lip and considered going back to the crew watching the boats rather than delve into the dark. However, as Bill walked past you, you steeled yourself and ducked in behind him. The walls were close together, and a wave of discomfort passed over you. What if this was some kind of trap? The damp stone made your robes uncomfortably cool, palms clammy from the nerves and moisture in the cave. Ahead, you could hear gasps and excited shouts from your fellow men and found yourself urging Bill forward as you became eager to see what lay ahead.

The tunnel soon opened into a massive cave. You were astounded, natural light filtered into the opening and lit the hidden cove. It was a circle of sorts, land in the center surrounded by a tide pool littered with stepping stones. You guessed this treasure was hidden at the center of the circle, and Barbossa seemed to think the same as he marched across the water and kicked lightly at the dirt. Satisfied, he looked up at the men waiting at the end of the tunnel and scowled.

“Well? Get to work you mangy dogs. The treasure is waitin’!” He stepped back, leaving room for the men to get digging. The talk of treasure had them eager, thrusting the shovels deep into the dirt as they fought to see who’d reach their prize first. The tools you’d carried were taken from your hands, and you instead focused on hauling buckets of sand away from the hole to leave them space. Every few minutes Barbossa would shout for the lot of you to hurry, stalking around the growing hole with mounting interest. He seemed more and more anxious to get at the rumored gold, and when the clank of a shovel against stone echoed through the cavern. Pushing through the mass of men, he knelt to brush off some of the sand from the top of the stone and a wicked grin appeared on his lips.

“We’ve found her, men. Get this thing out of the ground!” The next few minutes were a blur of motion, everyone scrambling to unearth the chest. You were knocked back, and stumbled out of the way to avoid being trampled while they pulled a massive stone block from the ground. It took at least eight of the men to pull while eight pushed once the other side was also unearthed. The sheer size of their prize was incredible, the chest was ornately carved with a language you didn’t understand. In fact, it was unlikely anyone on the crew understood the strange text. Barbossa didn’t seem to care however, grabbing a shovel from a man to force between the heavy stone lid and base.

Slamming his boot against the step of the tool, there came an immense cracking sound. The chest’s lid came away in an instant, but with it came a rumbling from the area around them. Part of the cave began to crumble, rocks dropping into the water with echoing splashes. Everyone panicked, and you found yourself crying out at the fear that you’d be caved into the accursed hole. Men ran this way and that, and you felt your arm grabbed and spun back as Bill hauled you up toward the small walkway. A large rock fell where you’d just stood, and with a breathless thanks you went running toward the exit. No sooner was your foot on the stone, than did the rumbling cease. Light filtered into the cavern, and Ragetti hopped ahead a few feet to peer out the cave before calling back that an exit had opened. 

“Well men, It seems we have our exit.” Barbossa announced, turning swiftly back to the treasure. “Now, the real reason we came all this way!” With a flourish, he kicked away the lid and the torches lit the gold within. All around them the reflection off the coins send light skittering across water and walls. The Captain was the first to grab a coin from the chest, holding it high. Your eyes widened, and then along with all the others you were rushing to the chest. Everyone was reaching and grabbing at the pieces, desperate to get their hands on the treasure.

“There be eight hundred and eighty two pieces in this chest. Bo’sun and the Quartermaster best have every piece when we’re back on the ship!” Your fingertips had barely grazed the gold pieces when he made the announcement, (which sounded more like a threat) and you pulled away from the mass of people with one coin in your hands. It was a heavy thing, with a design on the front and back. A skull grinned up at you, surrounded by a pattern of triangles and bars; the design was macabre, but you imagined the original purpose was too.

“What do you think you’ll do with it, Smyth?” Beside you, Bill held a few of the coins and clinked them in his hands as he looked over them. His eyes moved to you, and making a thoughtful expression you tried to decide. Your own ship would be grand, but you reckoned the share you’d get wouldn’t be enough. Running a thumb over the pattern, you stood to slip it back into the chest. You knew you’d get some back, but it was still difficult to part with it. Others seemed equally as nervous about handing off the gold. Barbossa had to go about turning out everyone’s pockets to ensure none of them were stealing. 

Once he was certain that they were all honest, he ordered the chest carried to the waters edge while others went back for the boats. You were left standing on the disrupted mound of dirt, too small to be asked to carry the massive stone thing. A chill draft sent goosebumps erupting on your skin, and as you went to move closer to the water you were stopped by the back of the Captain’s hand on your stomach.

“Tell me, Smyth. Does this feel too easy?” You caught his cornflower blue eyes with your own, your fingertips digging into your palms. What answer did he want from you? Shaking your head, he frowned. “Perhaps I’m paranoid.” A beat passed and when you were certain he was finished talking, you moved down to the water in time to spot Bill docking a dingy. Holding the boat still, the others loaded in the chest and soon the shore party was rowing back out to  _ The Pearl _ . The boat with the gold was weighed down, and you were truly worried it may sink the whole way out to the ship.It wasn’t until roped were wrapped around it and the prize was hefted onboard did you relax. Then it was the rest of the men’s turns to grasp and marvel at the gold.

It didn’t take long for them to sort out how many pieces went to each man. Each man would get 18, and Barbossa took an additional amount. It was still an incredible sum, and when you held your small bag of all eighteen coins you felt your heart flutter. The excitement was palpable.

“Now men,” Barbossa shouted over the ruckus of excited voices and clinking of gold. “We make to port. Time to be spending our hard-earned treasure.” He sneered, and the crew went wild with a cheer. This time, your voice was included in the masses. You should have slept well that night, eager to spend the glittering golden coins in the next port; the location of which was likely Tortuga once more, it was one of the last free pirate ports.

However, restful slumber did not come to you. Your dreams were plagued with rotting men that wore the faces of the crew. Bones and sinew replaced skin and hair, the empty, haunted eyes glaring at you as you scrambled away from grabbing hands. With a jolt, you awoke and climbed from your hammock. If proper sleep would not come for you, at least you could be useful. Up the ladder to the main deck you went, silent as possible to not awaken the others. The sea spray greeted you, though for once you did not taste the saltiness on your lips. Odd. Still, you made your way to a railing to check the many knots and ties there. They were still tight, and you turned, satisfied, before starting to walk across to the other side.

“Oi, boy.”

Your head swiveled to the helm, realizing you’d not noticed the Captain.

“Evenin’, Cap’n.”

“Aye, trouble sleepin’? You nodded in response and he motioned for you to join him atop the upper deck. Obediently you climbed up, taking a place beside him at the wheel. “Myself as well. I be havin’ the strangest of dreams.” Your mouth fell open, spinning to face him.

“Of rotten men and monstrosities?” He furrowed his brow, casting a curious look your way.

“Aye, boy. Was that a bloody good guess or are ye hidin’ something?”

“I think we’re havin’ the same dreams.” Discontent settled over Barbossa’s features, the Captain returning his stare to the open sea before the ship. “But I’m certain—”

“Don’t give me platitudes, boy.” This shut your mouth and caused your attention to suddenly be drawn to the  _ very _ interesting planks below your feet. “Perhaps the pagan gods be tormenting us. Forget them, we spend their gold either way.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Stepping forward you leaned on the railing, frowning and gazing out across the ship. “Mind if I stand here awhile?”

“Better than the dreams, hm?”

“Better than the dreams.” He smiled then, a crooked thing. You returned a smile before leaning your chin on your hand. A cool breeze drifted over your ears, ruffling your short hair and blowing your thin cotton top about. It was a beautiful night, and perhaps if you couldn't rest you’d at least have a moment of peace. Or at least, as peaceful as you could be with the Captain’s piercing eyes on your back and the tasteless water on your lips.


	3. Golden Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip in Tortuga is more than you bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for minor attempted assault

When the  _ Black Pearl _ finally came to port in Tortuga the men were eager to spend their coin. The quartermaster hardly had time to hand out each man’s portion before they were clambering out toward the bar and brothel alike. You’d already promised to walk with Bill to find the post office, it wasn’t like you were racing to find a pretty young woman to sleep with before the others. Besides, Bill was good company, even if a little somber. Together, you made your way down the gangplank and past dockworkers; the sun was hot on your back and you were thankful for the shade palm trees provided once you were within the town itself.

“Lots of people today.” Bill commented, politely moving through the crowd while you trailed behind. A woman approached you, clad in pretty blue silks and blue shadows around her eyes. She was beautiful, as to be seen asking if you needed a woman to show you a good time, and perhaps implying she’d show you a good  _ first  _ time. Blushing furiously, you’d turned her down and hustled after your friend. Many of the women were quite beautiful and while you hadn’t had an experience with the same sex you did wonder about it. Though you imagined most of the ladies would be surprised when your pants came off and there wasn’t a dick to be seen.

“How far to the office? I think I may be shanked soon if I don’t stop and talk to at least one of the working girls.” Bill actually chuckled at that and pointed to an old looking building up ahead. The words ‘post office’ were painted over the door in an uneven scrawl, and part of you questioned the legitimacy of such an outpost. Then again, this was Tortuga. Light eyes turned back to you as Bill seemed to assess your concern. They crinkled when he offered you a smile and asked if you wanted to join him inside, but you declined and leaned back against the weathered stone. The craftsmanship of the building were fine, built to withstand hurricanes and raids alike, heavy stone holding them to the earth. In the distance you swore you spotted the Captain by the look of his large, feathered hat. He was dipping into the most famous pub on the island,  _ The Faithful Bride, _ no doubt to spend his coin like the rest of the crew.

“Smyth?” Bill’s voice made you jump, head turning to face him as he stood beside you. “Day dreaming?”

“Planning how to spend my gold, more like.” He nodded his agreement as you both started down the slight incline. “I can’t decide if I should have two women at once, or save it for a ship of my own.”

“Save for the ship, you’re just as likely to have a good night as you are to catch something from these women.” Bill’s response was dry, and you caught him giving more than one the stink eye. “Especially Scarlet or Giselle. They’re the most popular.”

“Uh, noted. Thanks for that.” You gazed around, examining anything that sparked your interest as you grew nearer to the tavern. “What did you mail?”

Bill made a contemplative face, brows knitted together and expression dark. He truly was mysterious, stoic and focused. Finally, he seemed to decide he could trust you.

"Gift for my boy. Just a trinket." The answer was vague enough to garner your suspicion, but you simply nodded in response. It was nice to see him caring about his son, even if he lived halfway across the world. When you asked what the gift was, he didn’t say but you had an idea of what it had been. Your own coins were heavy in your pockets, still burning a hole there and itching to be spent. You had no family to mail them too and instead thought about perhaps investing in new clothes. Looking down, the old boots you wore were just a little damp from a hole in the heel and you could use a new sole. Or a whole new pair.

“I’ll meet you at the tavern, I’m going to spend some gold before I forget.” He shook his head, agreeing but clearly more amused than anything. As if any of you could forget to spend it. Rather than entering the bar, you headed around the side to reach the market. Tortuga was made up of dark alleys and sketchy side roads, and you couldn’t help but feel watched. Men and women alike sized you up, and the jingle of coins in your pocket began to put you on edge rather than at ease. Soon, the footsteps behind you were impossible to ignore and you spun on your heels to face three men much larger than yourself. A lanky woman led the group, hollow cheeks and deep-set eyes scanned you and paused on the coinpurse sticking out from your pocket.

“Ey love, quite a bit of coin I hear in your pockets.” Her voice was the course timbre of a smoker, lithe form moving close to you and allowing her hands to trail up your side. A discomfort swiftly came over you, and you batted the woman’s hand away before it reached between your legs. If she discovered you to be female, it would be distinctly more dangerous for you. “Care to show a lady a good time?”

“Apologies, I must get back to my ship.” Her expression turned sour at your words, thin brows drawing together in an impressive glower. You’d irritated her, and her whole body warned you as her gaze hardened and posture stiffened. Was she intent on seducing you into giving her and her friends your money?

“Yer captain won’t miss you another thirty minutes.” The men behind her drew nearer, one even beginning to move to your side. The woman’s hands returned, and you leapt back just as realization dawns in her eyes. “Yer no boy-” Another step back had you pressed into a broad chest and you nearly cried out until you heard the low voice behind you.

“ _ His _ captain very much would notice, thank ya.” The warmth of his breath ghosted past your ear and you felt yourself relax. A click of the hammer of his pistol and the warmth of his chest immediately calmed you. Funny how less than a week ago his gaze alone terrified you, yet now his voice in your ear and gun near your head was comforting. “Do you really want to be going after the crew of the  _ Black Pearl _ ? The woman stepped back with an uncertainty in her eyes. One of the men walked away outright, leaving the other two looking concerned as your fingers ghosted over the hilt of your cutlass. The captain took a step to the side and forward, his gaze unwavering as your wannabe robbers backed up. It didn’t take long before they were backing up and disappearing into the nearing twilight and Barbossa was turning to you.

“What were ye thinkin’? Walking about alone, yer no Bosun.” He was right, you were less than half the size of Cochair’s scarred bulk.

“I needed new boots, sir. Didn’t expect to get robbed.” Blue eyes seemed to question your honesty but he turned and nudged you with the butt of his pistol before heading off in the direction you’d come.

“Then let’s be getting you some new boots.” Realizing a moment late he meant for you to follow, you took wide steps to catch up and imagined you looked rather silly beside him. Here you were, hair cropped nearly to your nape in nothing but a loose shirt and cotton pants with a pair of old boots. He was downright regal, covered in fine fabrics and ornate belts and a fancy coat not to mention his feathered hat. He didn’t look at you as you walked, allowing him to lead in silence until you realized you hadn’t thanked him.

“I appreciate you stepping in for me.” He chuckled, and you hoped he hadn’t heard much of your conversation with the woman. She’d discovered your secret and that wasn’t something you wanted out.

“So,  _ mister _ Smyth. Was it poverty or dreams of adventure that brought ye aboard a ship?” The emphasis on mister couldn’t have been an accident a second time. He’d done this before in his cabin, and even then the anxiety had wriggled up your spine line a snake. When you glanced his way, you realized he was watching you and swiftly focused on the buildings instead.

“I worked on a merchant ship. Wanted more coin than they offered.” This brought a grin forth from your captain as he steered you around a corner. 

“And did you pass as a man there as well?”

“I-” So he had heard. God, was he leading you out here to kill you and take back the gold? Should you argue or fess up? No doubt he’d make you prove it somehow if you assured him you were male. God damn it all. “Aye. Women be bad luck upon ships.”

“I’d disagree.” The shocked face you made would have made for an amusing portrait, disbelief making your expression all the better. “Sailed with a spanish princess once and I imagine Ching would have her men’s heads if they called her bad luck.” He motioned to the cobbler’s beside you that you’d neglected to notice in your worry. “I’ll wait here.”

-

The time inside the cobbler’s had been a welcome reprieve from your previous conversation. Not that Barbossa glancing within every few minutes helped any. Still, the cobbler was a kind man who found a few premade pairs in your size and eager to have your gold in return. The comfortable brown pair you chose were snug, and warm, and not wet which was the most important part. He also took your old ones to replace the soles, and offered to keep them until you returned to port. A thank you sent his way had you exiting then, and shuffling awkwardly up beside Hector.

“What do you think?”

“Practical.” Then he was off and you were struggling to keep up again. “Now, Smyth, you best be keepin this secret from the crew.”

“Aye.”

“You’ve been good entertainment and a good rigger. Keep yer secret, and you may stay aboard.” He made no move to look, voice still even as you made your way toward the old tavern. No more words were exchanged, and you came trailing behind Barbossa like some kind of lost mongrel. Within bawdy music played and you were quick to spot some of the crew at a large table. Ragetti offered you the seat beside him, and you slid into the space beside the lanky man. It was easy enough to sink into the meaningless conversation of rum and women, playing a few rounds of blackjack with Bill and the others as well.

It was later in the evening when Bill motioned over your shoulder, and your eyes met a pretty blonde girl. She was leaned over the bar, curls falling over her shoulders and bright green eyes quickly flicking away from you. The men began to tease, encouraging you to go seduce the lovely young wench. They were teasing, joking, urging you until with a laugh you were standing from the table and slipping around the many bar patrons to sidle up beside her. You’d never, not even once, tried to flirt with a woman. You had nothing against them, of course, it was simply that they intimidated you and you’d never explored an interest in women.

“Ello, love.” You started, smiling in the most charming manner you could manage. She gave you a sheepish smile, and looked up at you through dark lashes.

“Are you one of the pirates?” The question was asked with a wonderment in her eyes, and curiosity on her lips. “Do you have a ship? Have you fired a gun?” Her questions were all fired quickly, excitement growing as she neared you. The red in your cheeks grew brighter and you placed your hands on her waist to try and hold her slightly from you.

“I, yes, I’m a pirate. No, I don’t own my own ship but I’ve fired a gun. Made the shot too.” She swooned, clinging back to you and leaning her lovely chest against yours. However, all it took was allowing your eyes to trail over her shoulder and caught the Captain in a deep laugh. The kind of throw-your-head-back belly laugh that sent your eyes wide. The girl was all but forgotten for a moment before her precious giggle brought your attention back.

“Hey, sorry, I have to head back soon. Next time in port I’ll buy you a drink and tell you all the stories, how about that?” She could hardly agree faster, with a vigorous nod and many thanks she released you back to your table. The men, of course, jeered at you for not taking her to bed but Bill stood up for you.

“Let the boy do what he wants. I don’t see you lot with a woman either.” This had many of them hopping up to prove they still had the game. You and Bill had a few more games before he was ready to head back to the ship, and you were eager to join. He was a married man after all, and you had no interest in attempting to lie your way through a night with a woman. The night was cool, and you could feel the wet droplets from the sea on your skin but the familiar salty tang was absent. Your nose crinkled, and when prompted, Bill said he couldn’t quite feel the spray itself and you both made the uncomfortable conclusion you’d had too much to drink and returned to the ship with a sense of unease.

-

The next morning, Henry’s cooking was the talk of the ship. Well, more accurately the common complaint among your crew. The cook seemed miserable at the prospect of his food not being good, and agreed that he couldn’t taste it even though he’d made it same as always. Not the best way to start the morning, but you slogged along regardless. Sitting atop a large barrel, you were nursing the redhead’s ego as he moped about.

“It wasn’t that bad, Henry. Everyone has off days.” He gave you an incredulous look, head tilted and unamused. 

“You say that, but the Captain gave me the evil eye this morning before you came in.”

“Things have been weird since we dug up the gold. I have a bad feeling about all this.” He met your wary gaze with his own, full arms crossed over his stomach. He didn’t care much for conspiracy, you gathered.

“Okay Michael, think what you want. I just have to get out of my rut.” Hopping off the barrel, you shot him a playful but nasty little look and turned to head back to your cot and grab your headscarf when a commotion startled both of you. Shouting was drifting down from the main deck with increasing volume, and you were scrambling up the ladder quick as a whip.

When your boots hit the wood, the voices became recognizable. Bill Turner stood with his sword drawn on the captain, and Barbossa looked entirely too relaxed for the situation. Men had gathered ‘round, with a few of the loyalists pointing their own swords at Bill, though no guns had yet been drawn. 

“Somethin’ is wrong and you know it. It all started with your damn mutiny!” Bill shouted, face twisted in anger.

“Nay, Turner. Far as I see, we’re living like kings.”

“On a ship that isn’t yours. With a crew you bought the loyalty of!” You weren’t sure if it was by chance or intention that Barbossa met your eyes then, but you let yourself melt into the crowd to avoid him.

“And I see I have but one weak link. Seize him. Bring me a cannon.” Your eyes blew wide at the realization. The captain planned to kill him. Barbossa vanished into his cabin as Cochair and Twigg wrested Bill’s sword from his hand and held him down while others fetched one of the older cannons. You went racing after the captain, swinging through the doorway like a bat out of hell. He couldn’t just  _ drown _ the closest thing to a friend you had here. 

“You can’t do this!” From his seat in the throne at the desk, Barbossa gave you a curious look before standing and bracing his palms on the surface so he could learn toward you.

“Actually lass, I can.” He stood and stalked toward you until he could lean over you and nearly pressed you into the wall of his cabin. “And if ye have a problem with it, you can join ‘im.” You felt warm, shrinking back from his quiet threat. Something about the Captain made the even tone of his voice more fearsome that a yell.

“Please, sir. He has a wife, a child. I-”

“Don’t be assumin’ my saving yer sorry hide was anything more than a courtesy, Smyth.” He snarled low, baring his teeth just slightly. “You have no grounds to be making requests, now get out. I’m not in the habit of tolerating disloyalty.” With that he was pulling away and you stumbled back out of the quarters and stood for a moment in the hot sun, stunned. Bill was still arguing with the men restraining him, and it wasn’t until the canon was pulled into place that Barbossa returned to the desk. 

A grim smirk was sent your way before he ordered Bill tied down to it. Ragetti seemed as tentative to tie Bill down as you did and both of you hung back. Bill didn’t look your way, didn’t incriminate you as his friend but still you cast pleading looks in the Captain’s direction that were promptly ignored. Soon, your friend struggled atop the cannon, ties down by the straps of his boots and some old rope. His arms and ankles were bound tight, light hair hanging around his face as he struggled. The struggle continued as the machine was hauled to the side of the ship, and before he was pushed over the edge you fought through the masses to reach him.

“I’m sorry, I tried to ask Barbossa I-”

“Hush, boy. Take the gold from my things. Take care of yourself.” His grey-blue eyes were sad and you felt the telltale lump in your throat that urged you to cry. Swallowing the tears, you nodded. He would never see his wife, nor his son. All the talk of staying alive for them, now this.

“I’ll see you again someday, right?”

“I don’t wish death on you, lad. But-” Whatever he was going to say was cut short as the cannon was pushed over the edge and hit the surface of the sea. The last you saw was his scarf, a faded blue thing, disappear into the depths below.


	4. Bloodied Blades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first raid nearly costs you.

Things had been tense for the past few days, especially between you and the captain. You understood, in part. He had to make a point that disloyalty wouldn’t be tolerated, prove himself as the rightful captain. However, Bill’s gold in your pockets hadn’t made what happened any easier. You’d watched your friend be left to drown, dying alone at the bottom of the sea; Raggetti seemed to feel your pain as well and while he kept up appearance for the crew he’d patted you on the shoulder when you remained seated on the edge of the ship. Staring into the abyss hadn’t brought Bill back, but you needed the silence.

Today was stormy, as it had been since Bill’s death, but the Captain had been tailing a galleon for hours now. Anticipation was high and the men had caught on that there would soon be a fight. The murder of your friend seemed to have been an appetizer for the pirates, leaving them in a strange limbo of anxious bloodlust. The poor trading vessel wouldn’t know what hit them, and even you found yourself itching for the fight. The pistol hanging loosely at your waist had been cleaned and loaded, the cutlass was sharpened and shining. Now, as you climbed about the topsail, you watched as the ship you were hunting unfurled another sail hoping to catch the wind. No ship could best the speed of the  _ Pearl _ , this they would soon know all too well.

Cannons were shifted and cleaned, men rushing about with cannonballs in buckets to set beside the guns. If anything, this crew was efficient. You couldn’t complain about the effort and speed in which they operated even if you were still mad at the lot of them. Without Bill to talk to, you’d spent much of your time with Henry in the galley while off shift. Now however, as the clouds stopped the sun from beating down on your skin you could only see the impending battle ahead. Barbossa stood atop the ship, steering you toward the prize. He still attempted to catch your eye, but you’d been avoiding his looks. He was a bastard, and giving him the pleasure of seeing the pain in your gaze was not an option.

It was mere minutes before the  _ Pearl _ pulled up beside the merchant vessel and you could see the name painted across its port side.  _ El Castillo _ , a Spanish ship then, far from its safe harbor. Looking across the gap between ships, you met the terrified eyes of a sailor before the sky released above you. Barbossa’s cry of “FIRE!” was nearly drowned out by the storm, but the echoing boom of the cannons showed no hesitation. The splintering crack of wood filled your ears, and the smell of gunpowder followed. Men cheered, and you surged forward when the second volley was launched. Holes were peppered into the side of the merchant ship, shots aimed to cripple rather than sink. Barbossa intended to board. 

The order was issued as soon as the thought crossed your mind, and the Bosun was there beside you hooking one of the gangplanks onto your target. You weren’t the first to rush across, but after Ragetti rushed past you were quick to scramble after. Boots hit wood once more, and the echo of flintlock shots mixed with singing steel; the fighting was chaos. Pintel had run through a sailer, grinning with malice as he kicked the boy off his cutlass and watched the body crumple to the deck. Drawing your own blade, you felt the warm spatter of blood hit your cheek, and turned to face a man who now had a gaping hole in his neck; frightened eyes rolled back in his head and you met Twigg’s snarl with a forced grin of your own. 

Taking the captain would end the fight, and you began to move across the spanning deck toward the top of the ship. You could see the man in a waterlogged feathered hat, clothes heavy with fine embroidery and rain; there was no question he was the captain. A boy rushed you from the side, and it was nearly your end before your blade met his. He was stronger, no doubt, but you were quick. Side-stepping a heavy handed slash, you landed a slice on his thigh. Crimson bled from it, staining the cotton as he howled in pain. His sword slashed blindly, and you had to tilt back your head as the edge caught just below your lip.

The bitter tang of copper filled your mouth, and you spat a glob of blood back at the sailor. You could feel the warmth of your blood drip down your chin and neck, pooling in the hollow of your throat before slipping down between your bandaged chest. It mixed with the soaked fabric and blossomed across the white shirt. An animalistic growl escaped your throat, and you gave a violent war cry as your feet carried you charging toward the man.

A sickening wet  _ thunk _ and your body was pressed to his, the man’s sword clattering to the deck as his eyes widened. You looked up at him, your own mouth open in shock as his weight slumped against you and slid off the steel in your hand. His blood stained your shirt, and a puddle was quickly forming around your feet and spreading across the deck as rain carried his life away across the wood. The shock hit you, eyes locked to the body of your first kill until Ragetti was ramming into your side and blocking the swipe of a sword meant for your neck.

“Git yer shit together, Smyth!” He shouted, stepping away to face the sailor head on. You tried to focus, but his haunted blue eyes reminded you too closely of that faded blue cloth sinking into the nothingness. Your body felt cold, goosebumps rose on your skin as your shirt stuck tight to your frame as it soaked through, wet hair stuck to the back of your neck and thick rivulets of rain blurred your vision. Thunder clapped as lightning arced across the sky in a brilliant bolt, shaking you to your bones. You had to get the captain before every sailor on the ship was killed. Your new boots, damp but warm still, met the deck in a burst of speed as you launched yourself up the flapping sail. Ropes swung in the wind and you clutched one with a calloused palm before throwing your body toward the upper deck.

Landing hard, you dropped down and avoided a pistol swung like a club and swiped at the arm holding it. A cry reached your ears through the rain, but you didn’t turn to look at the damage you’d done. Barbossa was before you, battling the Captain of the merchant ship with bloodied blades. Your leader wore a characteristic smirk, stabbing at the partner of his deadly dance. The merchant looked more concerned, defending himself with little time for attack. He was bleeding from somewhere, red staining the front and side of his shirt; the man looked much like a wounded, wet dog.

A glint of metal caught your eye, reflecting the lightning in the sky and drawing your gaze to meet the shining metal barrel of a pistol pointed directly at your Captain. Time seemed to slow as you moved on instinct, rain pelting your skin as the explosion of gunpowder became all that you could hear. Pain blossomed from your shoulder, sword tumbling from your grasp and you stumbled to the deck. Looking at the source of the pain, you saw a burnt, bloody hole in your skin right below where the collarbone met the cap of your shoulder. Too shocked to speak, you watched as the Bosun ran through your attacker from behind and heard a victorious shout from Barbossa behind you as the rain faded into a foggy blackness.

Then, you heard nothing at all.

-

There wasn’t only emptiness. Something whispered in the abyss. Above you, voices spoke of death and life. Hands cradled you, flowing like the sea as you were carried. Then something changed, and you were looking into Bill’s pale blue eyes. His face was a sickly green and a white sheen coated his gaze. A reddened nose and distorted stomach spoke of drowning, and you backed away into a warm chest. Spinning ‘round to face Barbossa you watched skin peel and rot off his face until a grinning skull with cornflower eyes was all that remained. You screamed, running into the blackness and tumbling into a bloody pile of Aztec gold. Arms reached for you, and blinding light finally broke through the darkness.

-

When your vision returned, there were hands holding you down. Before the room had even properly come into view, you were wriggling away and crying out as pain erupted from your shoulder. It seared through you worse than the shot itself, spreading from the entry wound and down your spine. What happened came rushing back in an instant. Saving the Captain from a bullet, diving into the firing line and passing out in the rain. So, where were you now?

“Stop yer strugglin or I’ll leave it in ya.” Finally you locked onto the man before you, Barbossa snarling at you as his grip tightened on your arm. Your lip ached, and a brief touch of your fingertips came with the realization of a stitch looped through your flesh. Looking down, you had to swallow a noise of alarm. All you had on were pants and the layered bandaged that were no longer soaked in blood. Barbossa has what looked like a surgeon’s setup on the table beside you, and the space around you was clearly the brig. “Took a nasty cut to yer lip, and a bullet for me. Thank ya for that.”

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, the nagging curiosity of why the Captain himself was digging a bullet out of your shoulder nearly blocking out the pain.

“Well after you jumped in front of a bullet, you passed right out in a puddle of yer own damn blood. Bosun thought you’d died, there was a hell of a lot of blood.” He pressed a tiny pair of tongs into the hole in your shoulder and you jumped, earning a slap on your leg. “Lay still.” Your eyes must have been murderous because he chuckled. “He told me you took the shot fer me. I owe ya the courtesy of a secret I think.”

“Wait, you did this just to hide I was a woman?”

“Aye, now we’re even.” A clatter of metal and the little metal ball was dropped into the bucket beside him. “Didn’t sew yer lip, but I’m gonna clean this and close it fer ya.” His cornflower eyes looked from the wound to your face. “Go ahead and sit up.” Complying, a damp rag was pressed to the bloody hole and you couldn’t help the whimper as it stung worse than a wasp.

“But my-” you’d barely lifted fingertips to your chest when he interrupted.

“Bandages? Don’t flatter yerself. I changed em. I’ve seen more tits than any man on this ship.”

“Comforting.” You scowled, undamaged arm moving to cover your chest as if it would preserve any of your dignity. You certainly weren’t fond of the notion that he got a full view of your chest, even if he did it to hide you from the crew. “But thank you, for keeping my secret.”

“Gonna stop being so sour with me now?” You gave it a moment of contemplation, and shook your head no. He laughed again. “That’s what I thought. Mind yer lip. Talkin’ too much will irritate it.” It did ache with a ferocity you hadn’t expected, and you wished for a mirror. The sailor’s sword may have cleaved it neatly in half, and your inner vanity hoped it hadn’t disfigured you too badly. Looking up, you saw the chittering form of Barbossa’s monkey and your scowl only grew.

“Why a monkey?” You asked, looking down to where he was threading a needle through a thick looking thread. He didn’t meet your eyes, but steadied your shoulders before tying off the string round the needle. His face was focused, brows drawn together and hands steady. You'd seen many a pirate with a bird or cat, however most seemed to find monkey's were more trouble than they were worth.

“Had one before. Pretty thing, called her Polly.” He pressed the needle into your skin and you yelped, nails digging into the wood beneath you. “Nearly died tryna save her, Jackie here is fixin’ that hole in my heart.” The monkey drew closer, hopping from his perch to the bench you sat upon. It set what looked like a little glittery gem beside your leg, and when you picked it up the smallest gold earring embedded with a diamond.

“Who did you take this from?” The monkey chittered, smiling and pointing to the earring as if to ask if you liked it.

“The prettyboy Cap’n. We relieved him of his finery.” Barbossa pulled the needle though again and dabbed the cloth at your skin. The pain was precise and had you biting back a groan again. “I think he’s tryin’ to apologize.” You still didn’t like the little rat, but reached a hand out to scratch under its chin and snatched it back when you felt it nip you.

“He’ll be getting no forgiveness from me if he keeps that up.” The captain was only smirking in response, tying off the stitch in your shoulder before cleaning it again with the now pink rag. He set down the needle, taking your wrist gently and moving your arm in a slow circle to test your range of motion. The grip was soft, fingers barely pressing into the tanned flesh of your arm. You marveled a moment at the grace in such an action coming from Barbossa. The stitches pulled tight, and you hissed at him to stop as he set down your arm.

“There’ll be no climbin’ about in the sails ‘til this closes.” The pirate ordered, standing up from his seat and allowing you to toss your legs over the side of the bench. “The men know what you did. It’ll be easy to tell them it’s a boon for savin’ me life.” You were still sore, but stood and accepted a clean shirt he offered. Slipping it over your head, you swore he was closer than before. Looking up at the Captain, you mumbled another thank you and pocketed the earring from Jack.

“I’ll be going then?” It was less of an assertion than an uncertainty. Barbossa’s eyes traced from yours down to the stitches in your lip and stopping at the place on your shirt that hid your bullet wound. It didn’t feel invasive, only inquisitive, and his gaze was soft as his hands had been. You couldn’t help but feel like you were seeing a different side of him. Finally, his cornflower blue eyes met yours. “Captain?”

“Aye. Ragetti was asking about you, as was the cook.” You caught yourself before you asked about Bill, and nodded before slipping past him and toward the door. “And Smyth-” your hand paused on the door.

“Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thank you, for doing this.” He gave you that stupid, crooked smile and a nod.

“Not every day a lass like yourself saves my life. Try not to take another bullet for me though, I hate to owe debts.”

“Noted, Captain.” With that, you disappeared behind the heavy door and left him to clean up the mess of blood and bandages.


	5. Favoritism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner is more than you bargained for.

Doing nothing on a pirate ship was unexpectedly boring. You were forced to wander about, helping with minor tasks or sitting about. Rumors had already spread about you being the Captain’s favorite, and it had earned you plenty of rude comments and gestures. Cochair especially was terrifying. He gave you extra tasks, and even while conforming to the order of allowing you to heal, he reminded you that he’d been the one to save your life first. The man was terrifying no matter how you put it, and most were certain he’d become the first mate.

Currently, you were in the kitchen with Henry. It was easy enough to cut carrots and you enjoyed passing the time. He was disgruntled, and his food was still receiving less than stellar reviews. The galley was warm, the smell of cooking meat reminded you of a childhood on land. Between mutterings, Henry would hum and stoke the stove’s fire. It crackled softly and you set your knife down on the cutting board before sliding beside him and bumping him with your elbow.

“The food is fine, Henry.” He scowled, chopping the celery before him like they were his worst enemy’s fingers.

“Fine isn’t amazing, Michael.” The ginger moved away to dump the vegetables into the pot, and gave you a light shove back toward the carrots. “I’m used to getting praise, not unending criticism. I didn’t leave the Navy for this.” You slid the carrots into the pot and set the board back down; the knife went into the sink and you hopped back up on the barrel of potatoes you favored. It allowed you to stay out of the way of the cook and massage your sore arm. “What about you? After taking that shot for the Captain, how’s it healing?”

“It’s sore, lip is worse.” The slice ached whenever you spoke, and by the end of the day you had to press the cold bottles of rum to it to ease the pain. You could manage to stop your arm from moving, but communication was vital on a ship. Whether you were shouting up to the men in the sails, or grinning at a joke, the stitches pulled and you were wincing soon after. They’d held so far, but it was difficult to resist touching the thick threads and messing with them. Henry looked your way, raising one strawberry-blond brow.

“A cut hurts worse than a gunshot?” He was incredulous, smile lilting up the corner of his mouth.

“Aye. Least I don’t gotta use my arm all day.”

“Right, chatterbox you are.” Sticking your tongue out you winced again, pressing your fingers to the space below your lip to try and ease away some of the pain. “Captain thank you for his life?” It was difficult to decide what to say. Should you cover for him and act sour or give him the gratitude he did deserve?

“A bit.” You were hoping the uncertainty didn’t creep into your tone. “He’s allowing me to take it easy and got the bullet out of me. I can’t ask for much more.” Henry nodded along, stirring the pot on the stove. 

“I suppose that’s fair.” He offered you a piece of potato and you took it, nibbling on the slice while he cooked. “You gonna go round up the crew for dinner?”

“Right!” You hopped off the barrel and apologized before jogging down the aisle and climbing the ladder almost as quick as Barbossa’s monkey. On deck, the sun hit you and you squinted in the light. Men were moving about, and you gave a little wave toward where the Captain stood on the top deck. After spotting Pintel and Ragetti, you squatted down beside them to keep your voice low.

“Oi, boys, food's ready.” Their eyes lit up and they left their buckets on the deck as they hurried down to the galley. After you were certain they had a head start you hopped to your feet and called out the dinner announcement. Pirates were sliding down from the sails and spinning 'round barrels to beat the others down to the meal. Barbossa motioned to you from the railing and you waved up to him. “Aye, Captain?”

“I’ll be taking my meal in me cabin, let the cook know would ya?”

“Can do.” With a nod, you followed the others below deck and waited near the back of the line to get your portion. Reaching Henry, you relayed Barbossa’s message and had two bowls of the stew shoved into your hands with the order of taking one up to the Captain. An argument and fuss later and you were balancing two bowls up a ladder with a bum arm. Stopping at the top, you took a moment to breathe and allow the ache in your shoulder to wane before continuing on to the captain’s cabin.

Knocking on the closed door, it only took a moment before the oak barrier was opened and you came face to face with Barbossa again. He looked surprised to see you but welcomed you in with a hand. The bowl was set on the large desk, and you moved away again with your own clutched in your hands. He looked between the lone meal on the table and where you stood awkwardly between it and the door.

“Problem, lass?” The Captain moved from the door, and allowed you to take steps toward leaving. “Yer more than welcome to eat with me, lest yer runnin’ back to the kitchens.” You couldn’t figure out if he meant that as a dig toward your sex, and you opened your mouth, but he seemed to realize too.

“Didn’t mean anythin’ by it. I know yer friends with the cook.” You frowned, but sat when he pulled out a seat for you. Barbossa took his place in what could only be described as his throne, leaning on one of the arms as he grabbed an apple out of the bowl and took a bite. You poked at your stew with a spoon, looking up and back down before taking a hesitant sip. It was fragrant, but tasteless and a miserable sigh whispered out of your chest. The meat and carrots had all the proper texture and smell, yet it tasted like ash in your mouth. The captain watched you, the scar that traveled from his brow to his cheek crinkling as he frowned.

“The taste is gone?”

“Aye…” You replied with drawn brows, confused at his knowledge of your experience.

“I’ve lost it too. I’m beginnin’ to doubt the dinner is the cook’s incompetence.” The captain set down his apple and pushed away the bowl of stew, standing to walk toward the window. “I’d heard there was a curse on the gold, but I’ve never believed much of ghost stories.” Abandoning your tasteless meal, you stood beside him and leaned your hip on the old wood. 

“What kind of curse?” You asked, thumbing the space below your shoulder with a nervous urgency.

“Punished for eternity, the usual sort. I’ve opened a hundred ‘cursed chests’, hell I’ve held shadow gold and met a zombie. I don’t fear legends.” He sounded bitter, and his blue eyes were shadowed when you looked his way. The quiet rushing of water against the ship filling the silence.

“Do you think we’re cursed, Captain?” Now it was his turn to sigh, and he turned to look at you. He didn’t answer, instead taking your hand and moving your arm slowly. He seemed to gauge your healing, relenting when you cursed that it hurt. His hand went to your jaw, gaze focused on your cut lip.

“Hurt still?”

“Worse when yer touching at it.” He chuckled, moving away and picking up a bottle from the desk. 

“Rum?”

“Only if it’s strong enough to put me to sleep.”

“Aye, that it be.” He took a swig and offered you the bottle. “Good too, not that shit they serve at the Bride.” You couldn’t help but grin, taking a gulp and handing it back. The alcohol stung your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your chest. He was right, it didn’t taste like straight piss, it only felt like it going down.

“Could I ask somethin’?” He was leaning to open one of the large windows, but replied with an affirmative sound. “It’s about-”

“Bill.” You said his name at the same time, the captain expecting your question before you even asked it. “Aye lass, I figured as much.”

“Why did you do that, why did you let them do that to him?”

“I'm a Captain again. I spent ages mournin’  _ The Cobra _ and my crew. I can’t let disquiet start another mutiny. Jack was never a good captain, he was a drunk and a mess. Fortune falls in his lap more than he seeks it.” Barbossa scowled into the growing darkness outside. “I know Bill had a wife and a child, and I took no pleasure in killin’ him. Had to be done.”

“No it didn’t.” The sun was setting outside, just out of view from the window yet still coloring the sky a beautiful pink. Purples and yellows mixed into it, changing the color of the light on the water and casting harsh shadows over yours and the Captain’s faces.

“Maybe if yer a captain someday, you’ll understand.” You doubted that. “But for what it's worth, I’m sorry.”

You were stunned. Had you ever heard a pirate apologize before? He looked earnest for once, blue eyes catching the golden hues from the sun as he stepped closer. You were forced to tilt your head higher, meeting his gaze. His face was beginning to become familiar, the sunspots and freckles, his large scar amongst sunburned cheeks. How strange to think he terrified you mere weeks ago.

“Really?”

“Aye and I won’t be sayin it twice.” That was more like the man you were beginning to get to know. “I won’t keep ya here. I’m sure you have men waitin’ on ya.” Sometimes when he spoke you couldn’t tell if he was insinuating more than met the eye. Was he fishing for something, or just being polite?

“I’m sure they won’t wonder too much. To them I’m the Captain’s favorite already.”

“Please, I hate the lot of you equally.” You laughed.

“C’mon we all know you’re soft on Ragetti.”

“Lies.”

“You’re the dirty liar here, Captain.” He nabbed the rum and took another drink.

“Dirtiest liar, scoundrel and pirate you’ll ever meet. Don’t forget it, lass.” He handed it to you, and you took a seat on the desk before drinking more of the burning liquid. “And you can use my name when the rest the crew ain’t ‘round. Hector.”

In turn you shared your name, and he seemed surprised you hadn’t even kept part of it when disguising yourself. Though, the sound of it on your tongue was sweet. His voice was that of a man who drank too much and cared too little; the timbre was coarse and made you shiver when he nearly purred the syllables of your name. The scar under his eye creased as he gave you a crooked smile and a wink. It was likely the alcohol talking but he had a certain charm to him, or at least as much charm as a grizzled pirate could have. He was close, stepping nearer and allowing his arm to rise up and rest on the windowsill beside your waist. For a moment, the grin was too appealing, and you had to turn, tearing yourself away to look back toward the window.

“Well, Hector, thank you for sharing a poor dinner with me.” Giving him a polite nod you shifted in your seat to grab your bowls so that you could make a quick escape, but his hand caught your arm and pulled you back. His grip on your forearm was strong enough to keep you still but not enough to harm you, your eyes locking onto his. Soft breath was warm on your skin, his head tilted toward you as the blue gaze fell to your lips. Your mind was a flurry of thoughts. You didn't know if you wanted him to kiss you or send you away, both desperate for the warmth of him against you and to be freed from his grasp. What would the crew think if they found out?

Oh to hell with it. Your parents hadn’t raised a coward.

Shaking his grip off, you relished in the bewildered look on his face before your hands fisted in the lapels of his ornate coat and pulled his lips to meet yours. Pain bloomed from your shoulder but you couldn’t have cared less when Barbossa tasted of rum and the sea. You may have initiated, but after he recovered from his surprise he was leading. He stepped forward, picking you up off the desk and walking you back to brace against a wall as he kissed you with all the power of a pirate lord. It was mostly tongue and teeth, his canine catching on your lip and pulling a whine from your throat. His hands wandered, sliding over your hips and taking a handful of your ass to which you gave a yank of his hair. That earned you a low growl, and a spike of heat was sent straight between your legs.

“If you don’t want to take this further I suggest you run now lass, else I make no promises that my honorable nature will remain.” When you met his eyes they were dark, pupils blown out and fingers pressing hard into your hip. Your nerves flared, and you realized that not only would sleeping with your captain put a strain on your relationship with the crew, but you didn’t want to be just a bit of fun for him either.

“I, I promised Henry I’d be back to play cards. He’ll know where I’ve been.”

“Then best run along, little bird.” You nodded, skittering away from him to grab the dishes and flee toward the door. Glancing back, his eyes hadn’t left you, and the Captain smirked at your flushed expression before you escaped from his cabin and back into the cooling twilight sun.


	6. Accursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a little of the NSFW you've waited patiently for.

After the interaction in Barbossa’s cabin, you noticed his eyes straying to you more than proper. His shoulder brushed too closely when passing you in the halls of the ship, and inviting you to dine with him once more. You hadn’t, however, and were at least attempting to exercise restraint and avoid another compromising situation. The taste of his lips hadn’t left your mind and even though you knew avoiding him was for the better, the temptation was very real.

The sensation of his hands on your ass and his teeth in your lip kept you up at night, and left you frustrated with every recounting. He'd made a mess of the stitch in your lip, and you were certain it would be sore again for days but it only felt like a reminder of the dalliance in his cabin.

The tumultuous thoughts had you fleeing to land the moment the ship docked and straight to the tavern. The giggly maid you’d met last time eagerly came along with you for a meal and a drink, eyes wide when you showed her the  _ Pearl _ and bought her a pretty dress with some of your gold. She gave you a pretty chaste kiss before running home before her mother would miss her. Allegedly.

After your date, you returned to  _ The Faithful Bride _ to brag about your date as any proper young pirate boy would. Of course, you exaggerated a number of juicy details and boasted about your skills in bed before Pintel and Ragetti bought you drinks to celebrate. None of them asked questions you couldn't answer, thankfully, and you managed to stumble your way up to one of the rooms in the inn. The  _ Pearl _ was simply too far away, and you knew Barbossa had no intention of leaving for a few days. He needed time to sell the goods commandeered from the trading ship and the men got to rest.

At the pitiful sink provided in the corner of the room, you looked into the cracked mirror. Your short hair and hallowed cheeks were still a little unfamiliar, sunburned and weathered from days on deck. The warmth that came with a burn was strangely absent, and as you waited for the water to grow hot a frown took over your face. It simply wasn't warming, in fact, it felt almost as if no water was running over your hand at all.

Panic settled in your gut, an emptiness that rose in your throat as you slammed off the water and gathered your clothing. One boot was still being tugged on by the time you were hurtling out the door and back toward the ship. The warm caribbean air was absent, leaving plenty of room for fear to wrap hard around your heart. Boots hit the gangplank and you were at the door to Barbossa's cabin, chest heaving with breath.

Your fist pounded against the wood, and from within came a rustle of clothing and heavy steps before Barbossa pulled open the door. His eyes scanned over you, hastily dressed and covered in a fine layer of sweat from your run before meeting your eyes with a raised brow.

"Aye, lass?" You pushed past him, pacing into the cabin and tried to gather your thoughts.

"Capt-Hector this curse. I think it's bloody real. The longer we go, the more of that accursed gold we spend...You've noticed too I know it!" He watched, eyes devoid of any tells. "First the sea air no longer tastes of salt, then the food Henry cooks tastes like naught in our mouths. Now I can't feel the warmth of water on my skin!" A yell ripped from your throat, and you gripped to the edge of his desk. "What is happening to us?" The desperation in your tone nearly made you cringe, wincing when your teeth dug into your sore lip.

The familiar desire to cry welled within you, and it took every fiber of focus to keep the salty tears back. A hand came to rest on your back, worn from years at sea and lacking any of the warmth that was so comforting of human touch. Barbossa sighed, a defeated breath you'd never have expected to come from him.

"The curse seems to be more a threat than I thought." You wilted and he stepped away. "I no longer feel the warmth of a woman," his hand raised to run his knuckles over your cheek. You didn't draw away. "I can't taste the rum in me mouth. The pagan gods seem to want us to suffer."

"Then what are we to do, Hector?" You turned as an accusatory tone crept into your voice. "Live out our miserable lives never able to feel, to taste, to enjoy the things we need?"

"Perhaps, there is a woman…" Barbossa began, the words coming slow. He was nervous, you realized. This woman he spoke of was not one he wanted to see. "A witch. She may know how to undo this curse." You looked at him with a curiosity, gauging how truthful he was being. Stories of the supernatural were common amongst sailors but a witch, one who well and truly understood the dark arts, that was still unusual. 

He seemed to sense your mistrust, looking out toward the blackness that law beyond the windows. "I've dealt with her before. She calls herself Tia Dalma." The name meant nothing to you, yet the way he said it sent a chill running down your spine. This woman held power, if the reverence in Barbossa's voice was anything to go off.

"So then what? We go to this woman and hope that she knows how to cure whatever magic the gold put upon us?"

"Aye, unless you have a better idea, Smyth." You shot him a sour look, accepting that, in fact, seeing this Tia Dalma was the only option. Seeing a witch to cure yourself didn't exactly inspire a lot of hope, and you could only imagine the rest of the crew would be equally as uncertain. Speaking of-

"How will you tell the men?" The Captain looked surprised, as though he hadn't considered it. "They have to know. If we don't tell them they'll figure it out on their own and then they may mutiny." He scowled, running a hand over his beard and toying with the ends of it.

"Not tonight. They deserve their rest." 

"Have you gotten any rest since we touched that vile gold?"

"I'd be a liar if I said aye."

"You're already a liar, Hector, Don't dig yourself deeper in that hole." He chuckled, matching your tired smirk with his own. It was then when you got a proper look at him, half dressed and without his usual finery. The cotton shirt was loosely laced, held to him by the scarf at his hip and high trousers. 

Oh.

You were certain a filthy pirate was not meant to look so desirable. Barbossa seemed to notice your wandering eyes, catching your gaze with a raised eyebrow. Your backside bumped the desk and you realized you'd taken subconscious steps backward and he was approaching fast. Calloused fingers found their way to the short hair at your nape, blunt nails caught your skin just enough to send a jolt down your spine. His lips were near enough to kiss, and your fingertips rested on the fabric over his chest.

You pressed him back.

Barbossa looked stunned, giving you a look that portrayed his dislike of being denied. Before he could speak, you cut him off.

"I will not be the conquest of a pirate lord." His hand strayed from your neck to your chin, smoothing his thumb over it and tilting your face up.

"Ah, but who says it be me doing the conquering?" Your curiosity must have been too obvious, drawing another deep chuckle from the captain. It was low, and stirred something within you. Warmth spread from your cheeks when you realized his meaning.

"Devious, Captain. Though I must decline. I don't desire to be yet another notch on your bedpost." He seemed to consider this, yet his tanned hands wandered. His thumb slid over your thigh, ghosting too closely to the apex of your legs. This time he caught the shiver that came over you, following it downward as he dropped to one knee. You leaned against the desk as he lifted your leg, massaging the muscle in your calf. The pressure was nice, though there was no warmth to his touch. 

Your boot was removed, and he set your foot down to lift the other and repeat his actions. The calloused hands felt oddly smooth as they slid up the leg of your pants. His breath ghosted over your skin, cool as his had felt upon it. The next few moments happened in a blur. Your butt was lifted up into the table at the same time that your trousers were undone and tugged down. 

From below, the captain looked up at you. His hand rested on your thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb. For once, the glassy blue eyes looked earnest, meaning he wasn't wearing that shit-eating grin of his.

"Are you waiting for something?" You wished you didn't sound as impatient as you did. He'd all but stripped you to nothing, and now he was just looking at you like he was lost.

"I be a man of honor, Smyth. Woe to the sailor who doesn't get a lass' permission." You flushed, the prospect of him caring about what you wanted flooded your face with warmth. Granted, sexual acts without consent was a crime on most ships, pirate vessels included, but this felt special. 

"Then use your tongue for something other than sarcasm, Hector." That was all it took for him to lower his lips to your skin. Teeth nibbled along your thigh as he tugged your pants fully off your legs; his mouth was hot on your skin and you hissed when he bit hard enough to bruise. It distracted you enough that the soft slice of a blade went unheard, the realization not hitting until you felt your smallclothes flutter into a pile around your rear. "He-"

"Quiet now, lass. Unless you want everyone on board to hear." That was motivation enough to stay quiet, taking the weight off of one hand to cover your own mouth. The pirate lifted you just enough to steal the shred of fabric and tuck it in a pocket; you'd complain later but for now you wanted his mouth on you. Speaking of, it was currently kissing a trail up your thigh. He would occasionally bite down, leaving your nails to dig into the table and your breath to shudder behind your hand. When was the last time a man had done this? You'd had perhaps one dalliance ages ago in a port but since then life had been one wicked dry spell, and something told you the Captain would more than satisfy. 

One of his hands slid around to cup the curve of your ass, a thumb smoothing circles into the soft flesh as he nudged your legs further apart. A harder nip made you jump, and he stood. Before you could utter a noise of complaint he shushed you and moved to grab a pillow from his bed to tuck beneath his knees. Then his mouth was back with a vengeance, the flat of it running right up the apex of your thighs and leaving you gasping before you could hush yourself.

The feeling was dulled, however. Unlike the past where a talented man's tongue would have you quivering in moments, this was wonderful but wrong. Not that Barbossa wasn't talented; the way he curled his tongue against your clit still sent a curling warmth through your body, but the sensation was no longer as powerful. You wondered if- the thought was cut short as he slid one long finger inside of you and a quiet moan escaped from between your fingers. His tongue was focused on the little bundle of nerves but within, his fingers curled so sweetly against you. It had your back arching toward him as your nails ached from cutting into the table. 

"I dreamed about this, lass. I knew you'd taste like honey." His mouth left you as his finger continued their ministrations. Blue eyes found yours in the shadows of his quarters, a smirk on his shining lips. "Ever since our kiss, I've done naught but thought about ye in my bed." As dark and alluring as his voice was, you shot him a glare that very precisely told him to shut up and get back to it. This had him chuckling against your skin, kissing your thigh.

He continued, fingers bringing you to what felt like the precipice and then it crept away again. Hector's tongue teased as much as his words, urging you to an orgasm that wouldn't come. Hands pulled at his hair as your hips canted against his mouth and a sheen of sweat left your body glistening yet still whatever wicked fates watched you tonight denied you the pleasure. Finally, frustration led you to push the Captain away. 

"For fucks sake do you think-"

"Don't." Hector hissed, standing and letting his hand rest on your thigh. "I ache for ye, and now this. What gods deny a man the carnal desires."

"These gods, evidently. Though you gave a valiant effort, Hector." The foul look he gave you made you forget for a moment that you'd been denied what would have likely been a mind-blowing orgasm. The Captain wasn't pleased, but as you hopped off the table to gather your pants he allowed you your space. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, scowling still as he stalked to the window. It was hard to miss the strain in the front of his trousers, and you felt sympathy for the captain. Neither of you were pleased with the current state of being; especially considering the curse hung over your heads like a gathering storm, Hector was disgruntled and you were more desperate to get off than you had been in years. Funny that the first time you really wanted to bed a man, the fates decided it wasn’t in your cards.

“All the more reason to break this curse, aye?”

With a look in your direction, he chuckled and you felt a surge of warmth at the ability to bring a smile back onto his lips. “Aye, Smyth. All the more.” He turned, landing a light slap to your arse. “And when I can, you’ll walk crook’d for a fortnight.” 

“Your ship will suffer without, but alas.” He laughed again and you couldn’t help the grin that was painted across your cheeks. “I should be going then. Should at least try and get some rest.”

“Be safe, Smyth.” These were the most genuine words you’d heard from him, and when you met his eyes there was only for a moment, real concern there. He hid it well, but as you left him and returned to the emptiness of the night, you were sure there had been something there.


	7. Undying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've earned his favor, but it comes with a price.

You didn't make it back to the inn that night, rather falling into your familiar hammock below deck. You needed the safety of the  _ Pearl  _ when the curse seemed ever realer. The next morning came, and you greeted the sunrise with bleary eyes. Little sleep had come to you, and for the moments you did get the nightmares allowed you no rest. Skeletons haunted every dark dream, chasing you with rotting eyes and clawing hands; the shadowed monsters leaving you to wake in a cold sweat. There was no peace for you now, so it seemed.

As some of the crew returned to the ship, it seemed that they too had struggled to find pleasant sleep. Cutter was irritable, more so than normal and Cohair's expression dared anyone to put a toe out of line. He may only be the bosun, but it was clear he desired a position of more power. It was by truly unfortunate luck that you ended up beside him at mealtime. The large man towered over you, even when seated, and the ornate scars carved across his chest and back left you to focus intently on the grain of the wooden table. When you dared to sneak a peek, you noticed his attention was elsewhere. Following his gaze, you honed your attention onto two others that spoke in hushed tones.

"I told you, never happened once before."

"Yer telling me you couldn't get off with a pretty Tortuga whore?"

"Aye, wench did her best but all I could do was fuckin' watch. Didn't even feel nice."

Your eyes widened, fingers holding tighter to the small wooden bowl you were clutching. How familiar that sounded. Both you and the Captain had been left wanting last night, and to hear that it was happening to the crew as well was worrisome. They may catch on sooner than Barbossa hoped, and he needed to tell them before they discovered it themselves. That would only lead to chaos.

Cochair's gaze turned to you, one hairless brow raised. You could feel him analyzing you, his black eyes bore holes into yours and the desire to flee rose up again in your stomach. He was, in a word, terrifying. 

"Eavesdropping, Smyth?" His voice was deep, even when dropped to a whisper. You furiously shook your head in a no, feigning ignorance. Pretending like you'd been spacing out seemed the best option, and even if he gave you a look of doubt you kept to the story. Leaning down to your level, he planed a hand on the barrel beside you and grinned. Though, it could have been a snarl.

"You may be the Cap'ns favorite, but that won't help you here." The words made your skin prickle with goosebumps. There was real malice there, a sinister promise behind his yellowed teeth. This exchange drew the attention of Ragetti, who was just as afraid of the bosun as yourself but at least cared about you, stumbled into the scene.

"Smyth, Henry needs your help in the galley." It was a transparent lie, and you held little hope that the man before you believed it; yet with a chuckle he stepped out of your way. Skittering away, you gave a thankful smile to Ragetti before fleeing below the deck. You stowed away in the cargo hold, finding a comfortable place atop a large box. It was a little damp, water leaking in from the sea below to seep into the wood.

It was as good a place to hide as any, and no one save the quartermaster, cook, or captain would come looking for anything here. The perfect spot to crack open the book you'd gotten on your date with the pretty barmaid. First however, you needed to work on that bullet wound. Loosening your shirts ties, you slipped it down over your shoulder. The stitches were still there, but the wound itself was nearly healed.

Your brow furrowed, thumbing over the puckered skin. A pale scar was forming, distinct against your skin. The stitch was loosened, and only a slight red hue colored the middle of what had been a painful wound. It made no sense, hardly any time had passed and you'd been using it more than any doctor would recommend and still it looked nearly back to normal. The thought that it could perhaps be the result of the curse flitted through your mind, and for your own sake you pushed it away. 

Pulling your shirt back up, you focused for a moment on the comforting rocking of the ship and the sounds of the birds from the harbor. There was no time to jump to conclusions, you could read away the worry. At least this time it was a benefit of the curse rather than the many deficits. 

The door to the hold swung open and Henry met you with a sympathetic smile.

"Thought I'd find you here." You scowled, motioning to your book.

"Is it a crime to want some privacy?"

"No, but it would be to ignore the Captain's summons."

"Well, I am a pirate. Might as well ignore it and cut my losses." Henry chuckled, and you couldn't help but match his smile. You may be lying, stealing and killing, but you were all in it together.

"No Smyth, its for all of us. Right proper meeting." Your expression shifted to confusion, but you wasted no time in hopping off the box and snagging your book. "C'mon." Following him out of the hold, you made it up the ladders and onto the top deck where Barbossa presided over the crew of ratty, filthy men. His eyes found yours in the crowd and he nodded ever-so-slightly in greeting. 

"Now men, as I be selling our treasure I've been thinkin'." Not a man seemed disinterested, all listening with an intent unusual of pirates. "The pearl's been lackin' of a first mate since I took my rightful place as Captain." A few men cheered his victory, but many remained silent. The position in question would be second only to Barbossa and the Quartermaster; this title came with a great deal of sway. 

"I'd expect the First Mate to be deserving of it, 'specially on a ship fine as this. Me ship needs only the best, and any who don't suit can meet the same fate as Bootstrap." More cheers, silence from yourself and few others. Bill was quiet, but had friends here.

"This be why I've decided. My respect for 'im grows, and I owe him me very life." No. No no no no. Your skin began to prickle and eyes started to fall upon you. This couldn't be his move. Most the crew already had a vendetta against you for the Captain's appreciation of your company.

"Smyth!" Heat rose in your cheeks, panic setting in. Everyone was looking at you, some with grins and others with contempt. Cochair in particular held venom in his expression. "Get up here." Your feet moved before your brain processed the situation. You were on autopilot, going from Tortuga bound nobody to the first mate of the most famous pirate ship in the Caribbean. This was not in your plans. Making it to the top deck, Barbossa clapped a hand on your shoulder.

"For yer service to the crew and myself, I've decided to make you my first mate."

"Thank you, Captain." You said loud enough for the crew to here, but whispered a sharp, "We need to talk," Under your breath. He gave you his familiar carefree grin, starting a cheer for you that was notably lacking from much of the crew. Well, for better or worse, you had some power here. Barbossa left you standing, still astounded on the top deck and vanished back into his cabin. 

You made it down the stairs in a stupor, holding the railing for support as Pintel, Ragetti, and a few others came to give their congratulations. You couldn't help but miss Bill, he'd be at least a little proud, you were certain of it. Even if it didn't feel quite like you deserved it.

The men's kind words didn't mask the encroaching figure of Koehler. The man was spitting with rage, and behind him tailed Cochair and Don with Grapple not far behind. The little gang all seemed equally angry, but the dreads on Koehler's head were alight. A common habit when you were fighting, which didn't bode well for you. He pushed through your supporters and grabbed you by your shirt.

"You! Smyth!" Your eyes were wide, and the fear there was very real. "We're having a little spar. Right now." 

He shoved you back and you stumbled, hand going to the sword at your hip. He may be older than you, but you were good with a sword. You'd already killed a man, if you had to prove a point here you would. He drew his sword, the steel singing through the air. It was jagged, originally longer but broken off in the gut of a soldier. He'd been boasting about it in the tavern once before. 

Your own blade was still clean, the silver grip and guard had been a pricy thing, lucky for you however it hadn't been tricky to take the pretty sword. You'd always had sticky fingers, even when acting the part of an upstanding citizen. The weapon shone in the sun, and attracted the attention of the men who hadn't already surrounded the pair of you with interest. 

"Come on now, Smyth. Prove your worth." You felt rage simmering in your stomach. The men here may not have known you were a woman, but they treated you like one. Everyone's judgemental stares and sneering jokes. The constant belittlement and 'innocent' pranks, you were sick of it. Them judging you for your friendship with Hector, hell it wasn't even friendship. Mutual respect maybe? 

Your teeth bared in a snarl, stance widening as you took four even steps forward. He wanted to spar? You'd fucking spar. You spun the sword around your hand, gripping it loosely as you advanced. The short man seemed to catch on, laughing with a wickedness that would have scared you minutes ago. Now though, you were the first mate and you were going to show him that you were the one in charge. 

"Little doggie ready to fight?" He cackled, lunging forward in a taunt. There was no hesitation as you swung your blade and clipped one of his dreads. The hair fell to the deck and he rewarded you with a look of surprise. 

"I'm ready, Koehler." Then you were moving, your sword stopped by one of the jagged notches in his blade. Two steps back and then a slash from him, parried and pushed another step away. You had him on the retreat. He wasn't afraid either, coming back with a vengeance and swiping at your feet. You missed your block but managed a step to avoid it, the tip of the steep cutting a small divot in your new boots. Bastard. 

He went for the same move again, and you kicked up. Your foot landed square on his chest and he stumbled back to struggle with regaining his breath. Behind him, Cochair shoved him back into the fight. You had little doubt that he'd encouraged this; he must have spoken to Koehler to rile him up. When the shorter man returned to the fight, you were ready. A hack and a slash, steel clinging together and a shout from him as he blocked too late. A cut encompassed the better portion of his forehead, though strangely, hadn't begun to bleed.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Barbossa in the doorway of his cabin watching with mute interest. He wasn't going to interfere, this was all you. Koehler took advantage of your distraction to lunge. The sword was aimed at your damaged shoulder, a weak point they were all aware of. A swipe of your own cutlass managed to ward off most of the damage but it had swiped through your shirt and cut the edge of your shoulder.

Strangely enough, pain didn't spark through your nerves as it had before and so you pressed forward again. Much of your grace had been lost, hacking at him and blocking his cheeky jabs until you had the blade of your cutlass to his throat. 

"I'm not going to kill you Koehler, but you will Listen. To. Me." You didn't recognize your own voice, low and dark and full of fury. "I am your first mate. If you disobey me again I'll hang your miserable head from the crow's nest by your dreadlocks."

There it was. 

He was afraid. The oh so familiar fear danced in his brown eyes. Smug, you turned to Barbossa, shoulders back with pride as you sheathed your sword. Then suddenly too many things happened at once. There was the clang of metal, the Captain let out a shout and began to move before your body lurched forward. Something felt wrong.

Looking down, the end of a steel blade protruded from your chest. It was scarlet, covered with your beaded blood. It wasn't the jagged tip of Koehler's cutlass however, this was the blunt machete Cochair so favored. Too many voices surrounded you, Hector's snarl at the Bosun and Cochair's deeper shouts in turn. Some were backing the Bosun and others, most, were with the Captain. Even if they didn't like you, the bosun had violated the rules of combat by stepping into a fight that wasn't his own. 

That was when you realized it didn't hurt. Your fingertips traced the edge of the blade before your arm reached behind you to wrench the weapon out of your chest. Similar to Koehler's cut, there was no blood pouring from the hole in your chest. Even as you watched it, it was mending slowly. What the- 

Others were noticing you were neither collapsing nor dying, and finally your would-be murderer and the Captain both faced you. Hector first met your eyes, then the hole in your chest, mouth agape.

"Hector we cannot die." The words were a whisper, full of the doubt you felt. It seemed impossible but it was the only thing that could explain the- Cochair laughed, a deep, vile sound.

"Death has made you-" the crack of a gunshot left Barbossa's gun and echoed across the ship. The bullet had hit Cochair square in the chest and sent him stumbling back, but didn't knock him over. He looked aghast, clapping a hand over his chest. "Captain!"

"You heard the first mate." Hector became Captain once more, posture changing as he shouted above the shocked shouts and furious yells. "The accursed Aztec gold has blighted us. Never to die, never to feel. We be damned."

The crew's concern rose to a cacophony, silenced only when you fired a round into the sky.

"Captain's speaking."

"Smyth and I have a plan. We sell the cargo we have, then travel to Cuba. We must speak with a woman who can assist us." 

"You mean...her?" Ragetti whispered, wooden eye rolling the wrong direction as he looked between Barbossa and yourself. The Captain nodded, a silent conversation passing between them. There was something there that you hadn't been told. "Bloody hell."

"Now back to work, mangy dogs. We have shit to do." Then with a flourish the Captain was down the gangplanks and left the crew to you. A few confused faces turned to you, concerned expressions and questions were many; suddenly you felt very small again.

-

The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to dissuade the crew from either fighting each other or running off and by the time the sun began to set, you had hidden away in Barbossa's cabin. He'd remained at port, so you finally took the time to remove the tattered bindings from your chest. They'd been held together by threads, and you were eager to mend them before the crew took notice. 

Back to the door, you didn't notice Barbossa's arrival until the heavy sound of boots on wood drew your attention. You grabbed your shirt and wrapped it haphazardly around yourself, spinning in your seat to face him.

"Sorry for using your cabin for this, couldn't find anywhere else at the moment." His eyes were locked on your chest and you were about to scold him when you realized he wasn't staring at your tits but rather the new scar that had formed. It was jagged, ugly, a mark of pale tissue that disrupted the rest of your skin tone. 

"He got ye."

"Aye. Though I suppose I have the curse to thank for my life this time" 

"You'd suppose." Moving your hands, you let the cotton drop lower and reveal the entire scar. "Did it hurt?"

"No. It just felt...cold." That was it, cold steel in your sternum. It was a miracle you lived. "What are you going to do with the bosun?"

"Take a few fingers. Can't do much else if we don't feel." You weren't expecting the sigh that escaped you. It was a shame that you couldn't punish him properly. Or kill him. The idea didn't feel so wrong in your head.

"He meant to kill me."

"No doubt." 

Silence followed, and you grabbed the bandages to begin the process but were stopped when Barbossa offered his hand. Giving him the roll, you dropped the shirt and to his credit he only ogled your breasts a little before getting to work. His work was efficient, but slow. He allowed his fingers to trace your skin and raise goosebumps in their wake.

"What did you intend to do by making me your first mate?" The question had been nagging you since he'd first said the words, and now you had him alone.

"Smyth, out of all the men on this blasted ship, you're the only one I can trust beside Pintel and Ragetti. However, ye also have a sense of duty and a good head on yer shoulders." You smiled, proud of yourself for impressing the captain. You wished, for a moment he'd use your real name but quickly squashed the desire. Feelings had no place here on this pirate vessel. "And you can hold yer own in a fight."

"Though I'm awfully good at getting shot and stabbed, aye?"

"Aye, that be true." You both laughed, grinning together like a couple of idiots. "What say ye lass, come out tonight with me? I know of a pub the men won't flock to."

The promise of drinks and spending more time with the charismatic captain? Tempting. He tied off the bindings and you slid your shirt back on, comfortably masculine once more. He was silent, awaiting your reply and smirked when you agreed.

"Meet you on the docks. The men won't take the ship, they fear the curse more than they hate me." He answered the question you were prepared to ask next, and you realized he was probably right. The men didn't know who Barbossa was going to take them to. Pintel and Ragetti wouldn't betray him and only they seemed to know.

"Meet you there."


	8. A Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or is it?

You waited for a time to ensure it didn't directly seem like you were following the Captain out for a date. Was it a date? At the least it was a dinner among friends, two people talking and enjoying some time away from the ship. It wasn't something you ever expected to do at the least. After leaving your life as an honorable woman, you didn't expect to find any sort of romantic company. Passing as a man tended to rob you of the ability to attract the opposite sex.

Now here you were, in a new shirt that wasn't cut or shot to shit and a clean pair of pants. It was the best outfit you owned, and a dress wasn't an option. Still, you came walking down the gangplank trying to stand a little straighter. You were a first mate now, if something happened to Hector you would be the one in charge.

Trying to imagine yourself as Captain was difficult. The men already disliked you, managing to get them to follow you would be a trial in itself. Luckily, you didn't have to consider how you'd manage it until it happened.

"Hector," you greeted with an easy smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, offering you one in return and motioning for the two of you to walk down the pier. It was dimly lit by a few lanterns, giving the old wood a pleasant gold glow. The soft creaking of ships and gentle lap of waves against the dock were comforting, a familiarity, the sounds of home. As you walked, your hand brushed past Hector's and for a moment you desired to hold it.

The want felt silly, a girlish desire akin to something out of a romantic novel. You couldn't afford to let yourself indulge in such wants, especially in full view of the deck of the  _ Pearl _ . If he noticed, Barbossa was polite enough to keep his thoughts to himself. 

"So, this pub none of the men will find us at?" 

"Aye. It's tucked away. With a little luck, we may get the place to ourselves." This seemed unlikely; in fact it was unlikely that any bar in Tortuga would be empty this time of night. The many pirate vessels and islanders crowded into just about every establishment that served alcohol. Still, you trusted him and your boots hit the cobbled streets of the city.

The lanterns lit the walkways, swaying gently in a breeze that ruffled your hair and skimmed along the stones. Buildings rose on either side of you, crooked and weathered from their seaside locale. Moss was creeping up the sides of a large inn, and you could see a lizard hidden behind a small outcropping. Sometimes, it was easy to forget the simple pleasures; tiny things that made life on land seem not so terrible.

"Where were you from, Hector?" The question wasn't really one you thought about, it just came out of your mouth as you gazed up at the stars from between the buildings.

"England. Little Irish in me too." That explained the reddish brown hair he possessed; you quite liked redheads. "What about yerself?"

You told him, explained how you came to be. Moving on from home to join a merchant vessel and then seeking greater fortune in piracy. It was a common story, but when he replied with the admission he had a similar past you couldn't help but grin. You and Hector did have a fair bit in common. 

"You never answered when I asked if you passed on the merchant ship."

"I did not." You replied, kicking a pebble along the walkway. "I was part cook and part entertainment."

"Ah, knew you were a performer." You laughed and shook your head, sea shanties were hardly performances. Sing loud enough and get men drunk enough and they couldn't tell a good singer from a squealing pig.

Barbossa suddenly caught your arm and led you into a narrow space between buildings. There were no lanterns, save for an eerie red one that hung above a cellar door. Hector didn't seem to mind and simply yanked the old wood up to allow you entry before following behind. It was difficult not to bump your head, and you had no idea how he managed but the two of you made it to the bottom. 

A young boy stood against an iron door, arms crossed and fiddling with a little piece of wood. On further inspection he was carving it into an impressively accurate little dog. He looked up when he noticed you and looked between yourself and the Captain.

"Captain Barbossa, pleasure. Who's yer guest?"

"Me first mate, Michael Smyth."

"Welcome, Master Smyth. Right this way." With a practiced ease he pulled the key off the ring at his waist and slid it into the lock, bumping the door open with his hip. "Please enjoy."

Entering into this strange tavern, the first thing you noticed was how empty it was. A few men sat gambling at a poker table, a few others at the bar, and then yourself and Hector. It was startling how calm it was. Old finery decorated the walls, draped curtains and a crystal chandelier, along with shimmering silver candelabras.

"What is this place?" You leaned back to whisper to the Captain, brows draw together in curiosity.

"The Nobleman's Demise. Captains and their firsts only."

"And I have conveniently just risen in the ranks." You surmised, giving him a scowl.

"Funny, that." He replied with a grin. While it was amusing to assume that Barbossa had promoted you purely to take you on a more private date, you seriously hoped that wasn't the case; or at least, it played only the tiniest part in his decision. Wait, date? Absolutely not.

"Please tell me it was at least partially because of my skill?"

"Of course, lass. You're nearly the best rigger I've got on me ship, and certainly the loyalist rat I've got aboard." While being called a rat wasn't exactly the type of thing a lady appreciated being called, you got the meaning behind his praise. He thought you were worth it, for more than your face or body.

The next few hours were spent truly getting to know one another. Sharing tales of where you'd been born and raised, each of your time working as honest sailors, and more. His tales of Shadow gold and sailing with a princess were fascinating. As were the stories that featured your foolish ex-Captain. Jack seemed to always have been a bit of a hedonist, and it made sense Barbossa would want to improve the ship and crew.

"So tell me, if you don't mind, about this witch."

Barbossa stiffened, his change in demeanor instantaneous. Cornflower eyes stared into the space past your head while calloused fingers traced the grains of the table. Whoever this woman was, Hector was afraid of her.

“Tia Dalma is her name.” His voice was quiet, punctuated by a sip from his mug. “Knows the dark magic, bones, blood, things of that sort.”

“If I hadn’t just taken a machete to the chest, I’d think you were bullshittin’ me.”

“Aye, Jack and I were skeptics once. No more.” It felt like the music you once heard in the background faded as your attention focused strictly on the Captain. “She was the one that started us on the journey against the alchemist and his shadow gold.”

“So she’s helpful then?”

“She’s intimidating, even to me. When you meet her, you’ll know what I mean.” He chuckled, picking a piece of bread off his plate to munch on. “Her eyes are the color of the darkest night; she looks like she just walked out of the sea. Animals flock to her, and she always seems to know everything about a man.”

You wondered what it would be like to be in the presence of a woman who rocked your Captain and crew alike. What would she say when the lot of you appeared at her door? Would she even want to help you? Hector seemed hopeful.

“Do you think this witch will lend us her magic?”

“For a price, Tia Dalma will do almost anything.” Your eyes narrowed at his words, brows pulled together in a display of uncertainty.

“What kind of price?”

“She deals in favors, mostly. Sometimes promises.” Still, the prospect of owing something intangible was even more concerning. There were a hundred things she could ask of you.

“Well...what could be worse than eternal unlife?”

“Exactly, lass.” He downed the rest of his mug, and you copied. His nonchalance was far from the sputter you made as the harsh ale burned your throat. The warming feeling alcohol provided was worth the pain but still something you could do without.

The conversation slipped back into easy jokes, and you could feel the nervousness in your stomach abating when suddenly a warm chuckle left the captain and butterflies exploded from within you. You couldn’t help the giddiness you felt when he smiled. It was a fluttering sensation, growing stronger when you’d make him laugh. Beneath the table, his foot brushed yours and your body nearly jumped out of your chair.

He looked up at you, the raised eyebrow quickly convincing you that it was absolutely intentional. Barbossa looked entirely too smug for it to have been an accident. Standing, he offered a hand and hauled you to your feet. Clapping a few gold coins on the old wood, the Captain began his walk to the door. The coins grinned up at your with their carved Aztec skulls and you couldn’t help the shiver that wormed its way down your spine as you hurried after him.

“Are you sure we should still be using the gold?” Hector led the way outside, only acknowledging the question with a crooked frown. “What if spending it makes it worse?”

“Then we’ll be back to collect our accursed gold after the witch tells us what to do.”

The concern that settled on your face weighed heavy. It was a legitimate fear, spending the blood money and sealing your fate. If only Bill were here now. You missed his sensible nature, the easy conversation...you missed him. Beside you, Hector’s gaze softened, and he rested a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry lass, we’ll figure it out.” The tone in his voice was soft again, as it had been back in his cabin. The tenderness made warmth bloom from where his hand rested on your shoulder. For a moment you wondered what he might have been if not for piracy, if you’d met when you were both struggling in the streets.

By this point, you were nearly back to the docks and his hand slipped from your shoulder to the small of your back. Looking up at him, the light illuminated your Captain with a soft golden glow. The flickering light cast a halo around him and you focused back on the damp wooden dock ahead rather than allowing your face to flush scarlet. He was especially apt at making you flustered without trying and you hoped the sensation would be gone before you reached the ship.

Speaking of, you could see the beautiful black sails of the pearl from here. Even tied to her mighty masts they were magnificent and the ship itself was a masterwork of craftsmanship. You couldn’t see any of the men up in the rigging and surmised most were likely in port for entertainment or sleeping below deck. Reaching the gangplank, Barbossa went ahead as Captain and gave you a polite tip of his hat before returning to his quarters. Taking a moment, you gazed up at the sky, fingers tracing soft lines over the place a sword once jutted from your chest. How surreal it was to be alive after a brush with death.

Finding yourself once more drawn to the bow of the ship, you felt the sturdy wooden rails below your hands and the wind drifting through your short hair; yet the salty taste escaped you and the dampness did not leak into your skin. How you longed for the familiar sensations of being alive. When you would know them again, you weren’t sure. The watery depths reminded you once more of your friend, and with a grimace you sighed.

“Oh Bill, I hope you aren’t alive down there somewhere…” You whispered to the wind, teeth digging into your lip. “I hope you’re with the good lord, or whatever you believed in.” Over the breeze you swore you could hear the quiet melodies of the port’s taverns and you shut your eyes just for a moment to allow yourself silent existence in the world. One day. One day you’d feel the cool night air again and the soft spray of the sea.


End file.
